


John Hughes Can’t Write Us

by MHMoony



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period Typical Homophobia, consensual teenage makeout sesh but only for like three seconds, homophobic violence, how slow is that burn?, not spies au, repressed young men in love, the 80s au i’ve been craving tbh, very
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-02-06 10:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12815235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MHMoony/pseuds/MHMoony
Summary: London, 1982. Harry Hart and James Spencer are living away from their family. Hamish Campbell is working and on scholarship. Percival Hadley is running his family’s secondhand bookshop. All four of them are just trying to figure themselves out and navigate a world that is somehow becoming both more accepting and against them at the same time, but at least they have each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that’s been sitting in my head and heart for a really long time, and I’ve finally decided to put it into words. 
> 
> Not Brit-picked, beta-ed, and I was also born in the 90s, so everything I know about 1980s UK is from research/academic readings/courses I’ve taken/documentaries I’ve watched, so if you find anything inaccurate, please let me know!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _I get up, and nothing gets me down_   
>  _You got it tough, I've seen the toughest all around_   
>  _And I know, baby, just how you feel_   
>  _You've got to roll with the punches to get to what's real_   
> 

**October 1982**

Harry Hart delicately picked up a pin and pressed it into the holly blue’s thorax and through the crunchy white styrofoam. He couldn’t believe he had yet to acquire the rather common butterfly into his collection, but he was delighted when one on its last leg fluttered onto the bench next to him. Smiling at his work, Harry picked up the block of styrofoam and walked out of his room to the flat’s living area and into the kitchen.

His cousin and roommate, James Spencer clad in a fluffy beige robe and his pyjamas, was already busy cooking a fry up for breakfast. He turned at Harry and grimaced, raising his spatula filled hand like a shield to hide his face.

“Oh, _God_ ,” he groaned. “Harry, I’m begging you, please do not put that in the freezer. I truly do not enjoy seeing dead bugs first thing in the morning when all I want to do is eat food.”

Harry didn’t even pause and walked passed James—who kept his breakfast sceptre trained on him—opened the freezer door, and carefully placed it on a shelf.

“Ugh, must you really put it at eye-level, though?” James asked disgusted from behind.

“Would you rather me drop it on the floor or on your food because I hit my head on a shelf bending down?” Harry countered as he closed the door and turned to face James.

The look of pure horror on his face was enough of an answer for Harry. “Now if you’ll excuse me, dear cousin, I must be off for class.” He strode back into his room to pick up his leather and canvas messenger bag (a going away gift from his parents when he first moved to Cambridge three years ago).

James called to him from his spot in front of the stove. “I slave over a burning stove for you, cooking you breakfast, putting hot meals into your stick thin stomach, and this is the thanks I get?” Harry walked back into the kitchen and grabbed an apple. “Just bolt out the door without even a bite of my hearty, homecooked meal?”

Harry placed his bag on the counter to double-check its contents. “Sorry, mother, but my education is of utmost importance.”

“Says the man who is consistently ten minutes late to his classes,” James scoffed.

“At least I’m consistent,” he smirked. Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and walked to the door.

“You better not be late for my birthday dinner this weekend,” James said as he plated his breakfast.

“I live here, how could I possibly be late?” Harry asked from the doorway.

“It hasn’t stopped you before,” James called as the door closed, causing Harry to laugh.

——

Harry cursed as he got out of his last class. It wasn’t that he forgot about James’s birthday; he simply forgot to get him a present, but Harry was a quick thinking man, and he knew the perfect gift to get him. He walked off campus in the direction of the secondhand bookshop that he’d heard many of his fellow students laud and gush over the past few years. Harry never visited the shop, not seeing any point in going there if he knew he would never buy a book from the establishment, anyway. He always specially ordered them directly from the publishing house, a fortune he most definitely took advantage of due to his family’s connections. Sometimes, they even arrived with signatures from the authors.

Unfortunately for Harry, he did not have time to order these in time for James’s birthday dinner in five days, so he hoped and prayed that this magical secondhand bookshop that all his colleagues raved about would aid him in his search.

James was an avid Julia Child fan. Whenever Harry would come home or walk out of his room, if James were watching the telly, it would almost always be old episodes of _The French Chef_ that James had recorded on various VHS tapes over the years. Whether he had all of the episodes or not, Harry wasn’t sure, but James was an incredibly dedicated man, so Harry would not be in the least surprised if he were able to have accumulated a collection of every single rerun that had aired since the VHS and VCR had entered the world.

Harry hummed as he turned on Downing Street, students and family men bustling about, avoiding as much contact with each other as possible on their way to their destinations. Harry never understood people’s need to hurry about when, unless there was a true life or death situation on the line, they could just as easily take a nice stroll and take in the scenery around them. Cambridge especially had a rich history within every nook and cranny, and the architecture of most buildings were truly sights to behold and surely had their own stories to tell. How could one hustle in such a setting without being in awe of what was surrounding them?

Harry took a right on St. Edward’s Passage and, amidst the snow coloured bricks, small, bright red frames stood out amongst the line of shops. The Hadley House was one that couldn’t be missed, stealing the attention of anyone who walked past its fiery paint. A wall of books were displayed behind the window that held multitudes of texts from old poetry of Lord Byron to children’s books that had only been released within the past month. Hadley House certainly held a wide variety and its stand-out presence only added to its charm, and Harry hadn’t even walked into the shop yet.

A bell rung as he entered, a pleasant scent of old pages and light vanilla consuming him. He could see why his fellow students enjoyed coming in here—with even just one step into it, the bookstore gave off a sense of a warm welcome and ease.

Although from the outside Hadley House would seem like a small space, it was actually quite roomy, with rows upon rows of shelves filled to the brim of hardcovers and paperbacks. In the back, Harry could see a lovely reading nook with a couple tables, a couch, and two armchairs where a few customers were enjoying an afternoon with stories in their hands. This really was quite the quaint hole in the wall, and Harry suddenly had a twinge of regret for not seeking this place out earlier in his academic career when he first heard of it.

“May I help you?”

Harry turned towards the counter where a young man with thick, plastic-framed glasses stood behind, jet black hair combed to perfection.

“Ah, yes,” Harry said walking towards him. He rested a hand on the counter as the other adjusted the strap of his satchel. “I was just wondering if you had any copies of _Mastering the Art of French Cooking_ with you, volumes one and two?”

The young man nodded. “I believe so.” He moved from behind the counter and began walking towards a shelf on the other side of the shop, gesturing for Harry to follow. He went down the second to last aisle in the back of the shop and began scanning each shelf. This was clearly the cooking section, Harry noticed, with all of its cookbooks by different authors and some even in different languages, some with faded spines and others looking brand new.

“Here we are,” he heard the shop worker say. He pulled out a slightly dulled book, covered blue and dotted with white. Bold, red letters on the top read ‘Volume Two.’ “Hmm,” he continued, brows furrowed as his eyes swept across the shelves. “There doesn’t seem to be volume one here, I’m afraid.” Turning to Harry he held up the book in his hand. “Would you still like this one, though?”

Harry couldn’t help but feel a tad bit disappointed. The idea of giving James an incomplete set was not one he enjoyed, but with the amount of time he had, he supposed he had to make do. “Yes, thank you,” Harry nodded.

The shop employee gave a slight smile and made his way back to the counter where Harry followed. “I’m sorry we don’t have the first volume,” he said as he entered in the price on the register.

“It’s alright,” Harry shrugged. “It’s a birthday gift, actually. My cousin is a culinary student and has a bit of a crush on Julia Child, I’m afraid.”

The young man chuckled at that before looking back up at him. “You know, I might have a solution. If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”

He turned and walked through the door that was behind the counter. An office, Harry assumed. Was he the only worker here? That would most certainly be a shame, having to manage this whole store by himself. Perhaps Harry could ask if there were any job positions available, help the poor fellow out. But then again, he did seem to be rather enjoying himself in this place, even if hey may be all on his own.

A few minutes later, he came back through the door with a small smile on his face. “A brand new copy of _Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume One_ is on its way as we speak.”

Harry blinked. “Are you quite sure?” he asked. “I’d hate it if I caused any hassle in any way.”

“None at all,” he waved off. “If you’d like, you can leave your number and I can call you when it gets here.”

Harry smiled. “That’d be lovely, thank you.” He opened his bag and grabbed a loose sheet of paper and a pen, writing down the digits and his name underneath before handing it over. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Percy,” the shop worker replied as he took it and scribbled his own notes on it. “When do you need this by?”

“Saturday.”

“Perfect, it should be here by Friday afternoon,” Percy said, folding the sheet and placing it in a drawer. “As for this one,” he picked up the first book again and studied it for a moment before continuing, “let’s call it a birthday discount and give it to you half off.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Oh, that won’t be necessary, I don’t mind paying the full price, I really don’t.”

Percy waved him off one more. “Think of it as a birthday present from the Hadley House. I hope your cousin enjoys his gift.”

Harry smiled as he fished for his wallet to give him the correct change. “Thank you very much, I really appreciate it.”

Percy smiled back and opened the register. “I’ll call you in a few days. Have a good rest of your day.” He gave Harry the book and a wave goodbye.

Harry did the same and exited the shop, the little bell ringing behind him as the door closed. He began walking back towards campus and on his way to his flat, the small grin remaining on his face. This Percy fellow was quite nice, and Harry wondered if maybe he should move his studying from the library over to Hadley House instead. Just as he was contemplating the logistics of moving his review sessions from one location to another, Harry suddenly found himself back flat on the ground staring up at the sky with the wind knocked out of him.

“ _Shit_ , I’m so sorry,” a Scottish voice said.

Harry raised himself on his elbows to see a flustered young man with black hair and half-wire rim glasses hastily gathering books and journals on the pavement. He tilted his head as he examined this person who had just knocked to the ground: striking jawline, currently bobbing up and down while his mouth let out apology after apology; a shock of black hair that was cut fairly short and jutted out above his forehead; and what Harry suspected to be a strong frame hidden beneath a jumper and button-up if the force in which he was tossed to the ground gave any indication. Overall, quite a handsome young man.

Objectively speaking, of course.

“Quite alright,” Harry said as he picked himself up and dusted off his trousers. “Are you—”

The young man shoved Harry’s Julia Child book in his arms and hurriedly sped off past him and Harry frowned, looking off at the retreating figure running around the corner.

Whoever he was, Harry was certain that the guy could especially do with a leisurely stroll around the city to just enjoy his life.

——

Harry opened the door to his flat, making sure that James had not come home yet from his own classes.

“James?” he called as he closed and locked the door.

When no one answered, Harry quickly went into his room and hid the book in the bottom left-hand drawer of his desk, the last place James would ever look—his drawer filled with his lepidoptery tools. Despite being sanitized before and after every use, James vehemently disliked being face-to-face with anything that touched his deceased friends.

As he shut the drawer closed and leaned back in his seat, Harry thought about the striking young man who had launched him onto the pavement, with his dark hair and muscled physique. He had been coming from direction of the university—was he a student, then? Perhaps Harry could make a few inquiries about this individual to see exactly who he was. But then would that give off alarms? His stomach tightened into knots at the mere thoughts of his colleagues seeing him for what he truly was. No, that wouldn’t do; Harry simply wasn’t ready for such a scene quite yet.

Not while his parents were still paying for his rent and schooling, at least.

Harry heard the front door open. “Harry?” James called. “Are you home already?”

Harry went out of his room to meet James in the living room who was toeing off his shoes. “Hello, James, how was class?”

“What the bloody hell are you doing home already?” James asked, ignoring his question. He shucked off his backpack and tossed it in his room before returning. “No dalliances at the club tonight?”

Harry scoffed as he went to sit at their round dining table. “I hardly dally.”

James let out a laugh and went to the kitchen to prep for cooking them dinner. “No, but it _is_ Tuesday, and for some ungodly reason, you decide that Tuesdays are the best nights to go out to Club Mud.”

“It’s the most unsuspecting day,” was all Harry said from his spot at the table, his thoughts once again drifting back towards the stranger in the street, and whether he would ever frequent such a place.

“And tonight just so happens to be suspecting, then?”

“Can’t I stay home and spend some quality time with my dear cousin without being interrogated about my clubbing schedule?”

“Of course not.” James flashed a cheeky grin as he finished placing all of his needed ingredients and equipment for dinner. “But since you’re here, how would you feel about being my sous chef and help me with this recipe I need to work on?”

The mention of James’s cooking brought Harry to his feet and ready to aid in any way (even if it only ended in James swatting his hands away from tasting an unfinished dish), and all of his mind ramblings over the young man in the glasses and jumper left his head.

——

Hamish checked his watch as he rounded the corner after colliding with that complete stranger and nearly shoving him into moving traffic. He was going to be fucking late to work, and that was not something that sat well with him.

It was Tuesday, and he was supposed to be working the closing shift at the Hadley House with Percy, but his blasted molecular modeling professor had kept them five minutes over to go over slides that they had covered in the last lecture, all because one of the students in the class had decided they needed a complete overview of the damned course. It wasn’t that Hamish wasn’t interested in reviewing the Monte Carlo method, it was simply that he had already studied the algorithm on his own time during his third year, and he really needed to leave to get to work on time.

And then he had literally run into that man on the pavement. It was as though Hamish couldn’t catch a break that day. He said his sorries over and over again before shoving the Julia Child cook book in the stranger’s hands and leapt for those familiar and welcome red shop walls. He swung the door open and the bell overhead chimed loudly.

“Sorry I’m late, Percy,” he said as he tried to catch his breath. “Class went over and then I accidentally knocked someone over on the street in my rush here.”

Percy looked at him with furrowed brows, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall next to the office door. “Hamish, you’re two minutes early.”

“It’s late for me,” Hamish grumbled as he made his way to the register and placed his backpack on one of the low shelves underneath the register. He stretched and glanced around the shop. Not too busy, a few Cambridge students reading and reviewing over in the seating area, with a few others wandering between shelves. He brought his gaze back to the counter when he noticed a piece of paper sticking out from under the register.

“What’s this, then?” he asked taking it out.

“Oh, that’s—”

“You got a number, Perce?” Hamish smiled looking over at his friend. “I thought you didn’t fraternize during work hours.”

Percy rolled his eyes. “A customer is picking up a book later this week, you tosser.”

“Ah,” Hamish said placing the sheet back in its place. “What book?”

“ _Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume One_ ,” Percy replied as he went back to taking inventory in his notepad.

Hamish froze. “And…was this particular customer just in here recently?”

“Yes, he bought the second volume a few minutes before you got here. Birthday present for his cousin. We were out of the first volume, so I called the other store in Oxford to see if they had it. So he should be in here on Friday, your shift.”

Hamish couldn’t believe his luck. Of course, the man he nearly shoved into moving traffic was the one who had to have made this particular purchase and pick it up during his work hours. He hadn’t even apologized properly, just pushed the stranger’s volume one copy into his hands without even looking him in the eye and sped away. He groaned, hoping that at least he wouldn’t recognize him when he came in to get his gift.

“Unless you don’t want to work this Friday…?” Percy asked uncertainly.

Hamish should his head as he leaned his elbows on the counter and rested his chin in his hands. “No, it’s just that I may have almost injured that customer on my way here.”

Percy let out a small laugh and shook his head. “Well, from our interaction today, he seemed like a nice enough chap. I’m sure that, even if he does remember you, he won’t hold it against you at all.”

Hamish nodded as he took out one of his notebooks from his backpack to skim through as he waited for a customer that needed assistance. Hopefully, he thought, he wouldn’t remember at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here are our boys!
> 
> Just for reference for the rest of the story:
> 
> Harry is 22 and in his final year at Cambridge. 
> 
> Hamish is 21 and in his final year at Cambridge (he’s a smart boy).
> 
> James is 21 and in his final year of culinary school. 
> 
> Percy is 20 and basically runs his family’s very successful secondhand bookstore. He runs the Cambridge store while his parents run their Oxford location.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _These people 'round here_   
>  _Wear beat down eyes sunk in smoke dried faces_   
>  _They're resigned to what their fate is_   
>  _But not us, no not us_   
>  _We are far to young and clever_   
>  _Remember_   
>  _Too ra loo ra too ra loo rye aye_   
>  _And you'll hum this tune forever_

Harry couldn’t believe his luck. A smile began spreading across his face, but he kept it from getting any bigger, making it come off as a slight smirk instead. He straightened his coat and messenger bag as he made his way to the counter of the Hadley House where none other than the man who ran into him on the street days before stood.

Percy had called him earlier that morning (thank goodness James had already left for class) to let him know that the book was ready for pick-up. When Harry told him that he’d stop by around five, Percy mentioned that he wouldn’t be there, but to just tell the other shop worker, Hamish, his name and the book he was there to pick up. He would know.

Hamish, Harry thought. That’s a lovely name.

A lovely name to match an even lovelier face. Without the moment of disarray and the man not hustling off without even a glance, Harry could better take in the broad shoulders and square jaw that defined Hamish. Another jumper with an oxford underneath hid the expanse of his chest that Harry was sure was as firm as he thought it to be. And although he worked in a bookshop, he seemed to be taking something apart (a clock?) on the counter as the mellowness of the afternoon gave no lingering shoppers any need for immediate assistance. Well-built young man, working with books, tinkering with gadgets. Yes, this was an interesting someone that Harry would definitely want to get to know.

As a friend, of course. It wasn’t Tuesday, after all.

Harry shook himself of these thoughts as he reached the counter and politely cleared his throat. “Hello, are you Hamish, by any chance?”

The dark haired man looked up curiously at Harry, pausing in his work to cautiously study him. “Yes, that’s me,” he said. “How can I help you?”

Right. And Scottish. How could he forget?

He doesn’t remember knocking me into the street, Harry thought, fighting off the urge to widen his smirk.

“Percy called me this morning to let me know you’d be able to help me. I’m here to pick up a book. _Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume One_?”

And just like that, Hamish’s eyes widened just a touch behind his glasses. A faint blush began to creep up his neck, and Harry’s grin finally won out its battle as he saw Hamish realise who he was.

Hamish cleared his throat and looked anywhere but Harry’s eyes. “Of course,” he mumbled, “just a moment.”

He disappeared through the door on the wall behind him, and Harry allowed himself to grin fully as his chest began blooming with giddiness. He didn’t exactly know why this was so amusing to him. He’d only exchanged four lines of dialogue with the man and Harry already knew he was a fan of riling him up.

Hamish returned, less red than before, and handed Harry the book.

“Thank you very much,” Harry smiled.

“Not a problem,” Hamish replied, still not looking Harry in the eye. “And Perce let me know about the discount he gave you,” he continued as he watched Harry take out the money for the full price of the book, “so just half of that would be fine.”

Harry forced himself not to purse his lips, not wanting to give anything less than what was due, especially given the fact that this was specially ordered for him.

“Consider the rest of it a tip, then, for such generous services.”

“Ah, I don’t think—”

“Then don’t.”

Hamish finally made eye contact with him again, that same curiosity travelling through his eyes. For a moment, Harry thought he would have to continue arguing, but Hamish instead took all of the cash.

“Thank you,” he said. He opened the register and began placing each bill in its proper place. “Sorry, by the way.”

Harry quirked a brow. “Whatever for?”

Hamish’s ears tinged pink in the most delightful way. “For nearly shoving you into moving traffic earlier this week.”

Harry smirked and gave Hamish a once-over. He really was a handsome man, Harry would be a fool to not recognise that. And he hadn’t shown any _un_ interest, so perhaps…

“Buying me a drink would more than suffice in return.”

Hamish instantly froze, and Harry’s blood ran cold. His smirk fell off immediately as Hamish slowly began looking back up at him with a nearly horrified look, and Harry felt his stomach turn into a ball of lead.

“Only joking, of course,” Harry backtracked immediately, putting on what he hoped was a convincing, nonchalant smile. It’s not Tuesday, he harshly reminded himself. “It’s quite alright. You hardly threw me in front of a bus, and, as you can see, I escaped uninjured.”

Harry’s heart pounded in his chest, willing Hamish to forget that he had said anything at all.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Hamish laughed nervously. He closed the cash register and wrote up a receipt, handing it over to Harry with a tight smile. “I hope your cousin enjoys his birthday present.”

Harry tried to not let his face fall at the clear discomfort he had caused this man. This was why he only let himself be like this on Tuesdays.

“Thank you, Hamish. For that, and for the book.” He stored the thick volume in his bag before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Well, I suppose I should be off, then. Have a good evening.”

“You as well,” Hamish said.

Harry left feeling more than dejected. He screamed at himself inside his head. That was a bookshop, for god’s sake, not Club Mud. He couldn’t go around acting like that just anywhere. This wasn’t the way the world worked, and it were times like these that Harry wished beyond all hope that he could feel anything but the way he always did.

Suddenly, he heard quick footsteps behind him, followed by a familiar Scottish accent calling out, “Harry, wait!”

Harry stopped and turned around to see Hamish jogging towards him. He stopped in front of him, his chest slightly puffing up and down from the exertion. “You left this on the counter,” he said, holding up Harry’s wallet.

“Oh, thank you,” Harry said earnestly, taking the folded leather and securely returning it to his pocket.

“It was nothing,” Hamish shrugged.

They stood there for a moment, and Harry felt the urge to apologise once again for his inappropriate come on, but hesitated, worrying that bringing it up a second time would only lead to the confirmation of Harry’s tendencies. Just as Harry was about to say his goodbyes once again, Hamish spoke.

“And, uh,” he began, “you really don’t have to worry about…about what you said earlier. Really. Just a joke, right?” Hamish offered him a genuine, reassuring smile.

Harry didn’t know whether to feel relieved or devastated. He wasn’t about to get beat up for flirting with another man, but said man also was clearly uninterested in anything having to do with men.

He smiled back and shoved away his thoughts and nodded. “Yes, my cousin has said before I need to work on my joking tone.”

Hamish let out a small laugh. “I’ve been told the same. Well, I, uh, should head back. Have a good day, Harry, hope to see you back at the shop soon.”

Harry nodded. “You as well, Hamish.”

He watched Hamish walk away and turn the corner, and finally let his smile fall. He wanted to get to know him more. Perhaps he’d make more stops at the Hadley House in the future.

——

James looked at the clock in the living room and frowned. It wasn’t like Harry to stay on campus on a Friday after his classes, and he was usually home by now.

Despite his theatrics and bold personality, James was someone who cared, and he cared deeply for those close to him. And Harry was as close as someone could be. He tried not to worry about what could have possibly happened to him, but he was never late coming home on Fridays, and if he ever were, he always managed to call from a payphone or something of the like to let James know.

Just as James was considering going out and searching the streets himself for Harry, he heard the unmistakable sound of keys jingling against the door, and a moment later, it swung open with Harry on the other side.

James breathed out a sigh of relief. “God, Harry, I was about to go looking for you.”

Harry chuckled and closed the door. “Sorry to cause any worry,” he said, taking off his shoes and tossing his keys into a bowl. “I got caught up.”

James raised a brow and crossed his arms. “‘Got caught up?’ In what?”

“Mother, I was fine, I promise,” Harry teased as he placed his backpack in his room before coming back out into the living area. He flopped on the couch and tilted his head. “Since when are you such a worrier?”

“Because you’re usually home by now,” James shrugged. “And you didn’t go to the club on Tuesday, and you’re late today, so I thought something might’ve happened.”

He saw Harry’s eyes soften. James wasn’t ashamed of his emotions, nor was he one to ever hold back his concern for people he cared about.

“If you must know, I’ve been going to this bookstore,” Harry said. “Getting your birthday gift, actually. That’s why I didn’t go out on Tuesday and was late coming home today. I just picked it up.”

James’s eyes lit up at the mention of his birthday. “Oh, really now?”

“I’m not telling you what it is.”

James pouted and sat in the arm chair next to the couch. “Not even a hint?”

“Do you want to me to tell you about your present you’re getting tomorrow or the handsome young man I met who works there?”

James eyes widened slightly. One of the main reasons they were so close (or perhaps because of) was they were only out to each other. No one in their family, not even Harry’s mother, the darling and understanding woman that she was, had no idea of their queer tendencies. And when two people share such a deep secret with one another, it’s difficult to find solace and comfort elsewhere. Neither of them were ones to actively seek out companions or relationships. Harry did frequent Club Mud, and James occasionally went with him, but James was never comfortable with the idea of seeking someone for just a night (or even an hour). Not that Harry was a regular in that regard, nor would James ever judge someone for doing so. Being gay for them just usually meant not having the luxury of spending more than a hidden moment with another man, and then never see him again.

For Harry to actually imply that he met someone outside of his usual watering hole...well, James knew that this was bound to be someone special.

“Well obviously I want I want the latter,” James said as he sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Who is he?”

Harry smiled. “His name is Hamish and he has the most lovely Scottish accent. Bloody gorgeous, as well.”

“You always did have a thing for accents,” James smirked. “And he works at a bookstore, you said?”

Harry nodded. “The Hadley House on St. Edward’s, near the university campus. Bright red shop, can’t really miss it. It’s...quite lovely, actually. Even without Hamish and the other worker there, though they do make the place that much more welcoming.”

“Such high praise,” James said. “Maybe I’ll have a look at it.”

“Don’t go inquiring,” Harry warned. “Hamish, ah...well, he may be quite attractive, but I’m afraid that he doesn’t...play for our team.”

James’s brows furrowed in concern. “And you know this, how exactly?”

“I may have attempted to flirt with him today,” Harry muttered as he looked down at his hands in his lap, “and he didn’t take it very well.”

“Harry,” James started lowly, “did he hurt you?”

A million scenarios began flashing through James’s mind. If this guy had hurt Harry in any way, James wasn’t afraid to confront him. Caring for someone meant in every way, and though James wasn’t normally one for violence, if a situation called for it, then so be it. Harry was family, and James took care of family.

“No, no, no,” Harry immediately said. “Not at all. He was actually graceful about it, thank God.” He sighed and swiped a hand over his face. “He said not to worry about it and that he hoped to see me in the shop again soon.”

James studied Harry carefully. He seemed torn, somehow. “And you’re sure he wasn’t interested at all?”

“Oh, he absolutely wasn’t,” Harry chuckled mirthlessly. “You should’ve seen his face when I made a come on. Poor man looked positively horrified.”

“Maybe he was just taken by surprise,” James supplied. “I mean, it’s probably not often a chap flirts with him at work.”

“But—”

“Did he say no?”

Harry paused, and James tried to hide his smile as he saw the cogs in his head began to turn.

“No, he didn’t,” Harry said slowly. “But that doesn’t mean he’s remotely interested.”

“You never know,” James shrugged. “Perhaps you should take another chance. And if he says no, then he says no. And if he pummels you to the ground, I’ll kick his arse.”

Harry let out a laugh. “I’d like to see you try. The man looks like he could intimidate a castle.”

“I’ve always enjoyed a challenge,” James smirked.

Harry smiled and rolled his eyes. “Alright, enough of that. What’s for dinner?”

“Would you be terribly upset if we went and got some takeaway?” James asked as he got up to look through the pamphlets and menus next to their telephone.

“Oh, there’s this new Indian place by campus I’ve been meaning to try,” Harry said getting up.

“Is it by the Hadley Home, by chance?” James grinned as he began putting on his shoes.

Harry rolled his eyes and did the same. “It’s the Hadley _House_ , and no, it’s not. Don’t go harassing them over there, Hamish and Percy are lovely people.”

“I promise I won’t go harassing them tonight,” James said. “Now let’s go, I’m starving.”

\-- —

James turned the corner on St. Edward’s Passage and immediately saw the red store that Harry was talking about. He wasn’t going against Harry’s wishes. After all, he promised to not visit them last night--no one had said anything about any other time. Namely, the next morning. So on his way home from buying groceries to make dinner later that night, he decided to make a quick stop to the Hadley House to see exactly who had Harry all flustered and bold enough that he’d go after him somewhere that wasn’t Club Mud.

He shifted his canvas bag filled with meats and veggies from one hand to the other as he pulled open the door, the little bell above him indicating his entrance. Immediately, he was wrapped in warmth and a faint scent of vanilla and old pages. Altogether, a very welcome atmosphere. He took a few steps in as he took in the shelves, books (so many books, so many, James didn’t even realise one small shop could hold this amount), and the pleasant reading and studying nook in the back.

He walked towards one of the shelves hidden near the back when he heard a soft, “May I help you?” next to him.

James turned and felt his breath catch throat. In front of him had to be the most handsome and beautiful man he had ever laid eyes on. His hair was parted and combed back to perfection, and deep, dark brown eyes remained shielded behind a pair of thick, plastic framed glasses. His eyes scanned downwards to see he had a modest oxford buttoned up almost all the way and tucked into a pressed pair of slacks, and shoes shined to nearly sparkle. If he hadn’t just asked if he required any assistance, James could swear this young man worked as an intern at some law firm or something of the kind.

And, again, _he was bloody gorgeous_.

Realising he hadn’t said anything yet, James mentally shook himself and offered a polite smile. “I’m just browsing,” he said, “but I was thinking of getting, ah, this.” He picked up a small book off the shelf. “Yes, this, _A Single Man_.”

James wondered if he had made a spectacularly wrong choice when he saw the (handsome) shop worker’s brows raise. “That is an...interesting choice. Would you like to purchase it now, or?”

“Ah, this’ll be all, yes.”

He nodded and began walking back towards the front of the shop, and James followed, wondering what could possibly be in this small novel that caused such a reaction. The shop worker moved behind the counter and rang up the book, and James pulled out his wallet to pay for it, trying to think of excuses to stay and keep on talking to him. Or a reason to introduce himself.

“It’s rather good,” James heard him say.

He looked up after stuffing his wallet back in his pocket. “I’m sorry?”

The young man cleared his throat and quickly glanced his eyes around before landing back on James. “The book. _A Single Man_. It’s rather good. Not many people come in and look for that genre.”

James tried to not let his confusion show on his face. “Well,” he said, flashing a grin, “I’m not like many people.”

He noted the light flush that began creeping up the other man’s neck and felt a hint of satisfaction. Whatever this book was, he had definitely said the right thing.

“I’m James, by the way,” James introduced himself.

“Percy,” he replied as he handed him the book. “It’s nice to meet you, James.”

Percy, James thought. A good name. “You as well, Percy. I’ll be sure to stop by again for another read.”

Percy’s blush began to reach his cheeks, and James smiled confidently as he walked out of the Hadley House, the tiny bell left ringing behind him.

\--—

Harry yawned as he walked out of his bedroom and into the living area. He furrowed his brows as he watched James come through the door with bags and a dopey grin on his face.

“Well, happy birthday to you,” he greeted. “A good morning, then?”

“This is the greatest birthday of my life,” James said as set his tote bag filled with groceries on the counter. He fished a book out of it and waved it in his hand. “I visited that bookshop you told me about on my way home.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless. “I thought I told you not to harass them.”

“Last night,” James pointed out. “You never said anything about today. God, Harry, why didn’t you tell me about Percy?”

“Percy? As in the shop worker Percy?” he asked. “What about him?”

“That he has the most beautiful eyes,” James started, his own eyes wide and sparkling as he relayed his own perception of Percy. “Or that his voice sounds like...like melted chocolate, and his hands, God, Harry, _his hands_. Michelangelo couldn’t have sculpted anything more exquisite.”

Harry smiled in amusement. “And what book do you have there? You actually bought something?” James offered to him and he took it, and his eyes widened at the title. “James. Do you know what this is?”

“I picked it up randomly when he asked me if I needed any help,” James shrugged, but then smiled smugly. “Percy seemed to like it, though, so I think I made the right choice.”

Harry looked at him curiously and handed it back to him. “Did he now?”

“Yes,” James said, taking it and setting it down on the counter. “He said he thought it was rather good, and that not many people have come into the shop looking for it. And then I told him that I’m not like many people.”

Harry almost laughed at James’s positively self-congratulatory grin. Almost. Before he could read this situation as funny, he needed to know the outcome. “And I’m assuming the chap didn’t wallop you based on that shit eating grin of yours.”

James’s expression shifted to that of confusion. “What the devil do you mean?”

Harry shook his head fondly. “This book is about a gay man in his fifties coming to terms with the loss of his life long partner.” He bit back a smile as realisation began to dawn on James’s face. “And you told him what, exactly? That you’re not like most people?”

The near mortified expression on James’s face immediately vanished and was once again replaced with his wide, excited eyes. “But you’re right,” he said. “Percy _didn’t_ wallop me. He said he thought it was rather good and then blushed when I told him I’m not like other people. That has to be a sign, don’t you think?”

Harry wished he had the same optimism as James, the same hope and assurance in the world and the people who walked it. Not that Harry wasn’t all of those things--he was. But somehow, James Spencer always seemed to take it to a next level.

“Or,” he provided, “he could just be polite and not a complete and utter arsehole who believes that the gay could be beat out of men like us.”

“Don’t ruin my birthday,” James pouted. And then, his eyes once again lit up. “I know what I want for my birthday.”

“But I already got you your present,” Harry said.

“I know what else I want for my birthday.”

“What? To go back to the shop? Twice in a day would be laying it on a bit too thick, don’t you think?” Harry looked at his cousin with a tired stare, but James didn’t falter. It was that damn hope in his eyes, Harry decided. He sighed. “Alright. But at least open the one I got you. Percy even called another store to get you the complete set.”

“Percy got these presents for me?” was all Harry heard as he went to go pick up the wrapped gift in his room.

He shook his head and laughed. Yes, that damned hope. But it was also something Harry never wanted James to lose.

\--

“Have anything fun planned for the rest of the weekend, Perce?”

Percy nearly snorted at the question as he locked the shop. “Probably reading whatever books my mother decides shouldn’t be sold in an establishment such as ours.”

“Like that stops you from selling them, anyway,” Hamish laughed.

Percy smiled slightly as he put the key back in his pocket. He turned around to see Hamish tightening his scarf around his neck as a breeze flew by. “And what about you? Anything exciting.”

Hamish didn’t even hide his scoff. “Grading papers for Professor Biondi. I admire the man, but even I think his rubric is ridiculous.”

Percy was about to offer to help when he saw Hamish’s attention turn elsewhere and heard him mutter, “What the bloody hell is he doing here?”

Percy followed Hamish’s gaze and was surprised to see both Harry and the young man from earlier that day walking towards them.

James. That was his name. The James that may have possibly been flirting with him.

As they approached, Percy looked at Hamish who still held a steady gaze on the two of them.

“Oh, hello!”

Percy turned back and saw Harry and James now standing in front of them.

Percy cleared his throat. “Hello. Good to see you again, Harry.” He glanced at the other man who seemed to be trying to hide a grin. “James.”

That seemed to stop his restraint as the smile grew on his face and he said, “You remembered my name.”

“Yes, well,” Percy said, “it’s not very often someone purchases those kinds of novels.”

“We were just in the neighbourhood,” Harry interrupted. “Forgot to buy an ingredient for dinner tonight.”

Percy raised a brow, but said nothing. There weren’t any grocery stores down this street. This was all trinkets, postcards, and clothing. What they were actually doing here was beyond him.

“We’re celebrating my birthday tonight,” James said.

And then, it all clicked. This was the cousin for whom he’d ordered the Julia Child book. Harry’s cousin.

“Well, happy birthday, then,” Hamish said. “I’m Hamish, by the way.”

“Thank you, Hamish,” James said. “James. Lovely to meet you.”

Hamish glanced at Harry. “Hello, Harry.”

“Hello again, Hamish. Nice to run into you figuratively speaking this time around.” The same hidden grin made its way onto Harry’s face. Perhaps it was a family trait, Percy guessed.

“I actually finished reading it today,” James said to him. “The book. It was...enlightening.”

Percy nodded his head slightly. “If I had known it was your birthday, I would’ve given you a discount.”

“Nonsense,” Harry said. “You’ve already done that with his actual present.”

“Yes!” James added, his eyes lighting up. “Speaking of, I was wondering if you’d like to join Harry and myself for dinner tonight, as my own personal thank you for going through all that trouble for him.”

Ah, Percy thought, that was the reason. He immediately began shaking his head. “Oh, no, it really wasn’t any trouble at all.”

James waved him off. “Think of it as a birthday present.”

Percy was about to ask what he meant by that when Harry spoke up.

“James loves cooking for people,” he explained. “And he especially loves trying out new recipes. He wanted to try and make one of the dishes from my gift. You’re more than welcome to join us.” He flashed his eyes towards Hamish. “Both of you.”

Percy turned to Hamish. Neither of them were particularly good when it came to interacting with others outside of the shop. It’s part of what made them friends, the understanding of being unable to know what to say at certain times. He could see the same apprehension in his friend’s eyes, and nodded in understanding. Looking back at James and Harry, he was about to decline their offer, that they had other business to attend to.

And then he looked into James’s eyes and all of his excuses disappeared from his mind.

“We’d love to.”

He could feel Hamish’s eyes boring into him on the side of his face, but he didn’t care. All he knew was that this James fellow looked as though Christmas had come early along with his birthday.

Percy didn’t know what it was about him, but he found that he enjoyed being the reason James seemed so happy. He shoved that aside, though. As tempting a thought it would be to explore, Percy knew now wasn’t the time. Or perhaps he didn’t want it to be the time.

Either way, he and Hamish were now guests for the birthday dinner of a man both of them barely knew.

But then Percy remembered how absolutely joyous James had been at their acceptance, and decided he could handle Hamish’s complaining later. This would be worth it.

——

This had to be the strangest night of Hamish’s life. Instead of grading introduction to physics papers, he was walking to the home of a man he literally knocked into the ground to have a birthday dinner cooked by his cousin. Certainly not what he had in mind for his Saturday night. At least he had Percy.

But then again, Percy was the one who had roped him into this in the first place.

He and James were walking ahead, discussing whatever book James had purchased and read that day. Well, James was talking. Percy was nodding his head and occasionally adding in his own thoughts. But Percy seemed…happy. At ease, almost, talking literature with a man both he and Percy had only met that day. He was wondering whether this James would become a regular customer at the shop when he heard Harry clear his throat next to him.

“So, do you only work at the shop?” he asked.

Hamish raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“My apologies, that was poorly phrased,” Harry said, staring ahead. “What I meant was, are you also a student along with working at the Hadley House?”

“I study engineering at Cambridge,” Hamish answered. “It’s my last year. I’ve been working with Percy for almost four years now. Couldn’t imagine having a better side job, to be honest.”

Harry nodded his head. “I’m also studying here. Zoology.”

Hamish raised his brows in surprise. “Really? That’s interesting.” He paused as he realized how insincere that sounded. He really fucking hated small talk. “Honestly,” Hamish continued, “it sounds fascinating. Anything in particular, or?”

“I’m going to be a lepidopterist,” Harry answered.

“Butterflies?” Hamish asked. Harry just kept on surprising him. “I’ve never met a lepidopterist before.”

He saw Harry smile bashfully and look down, and Hamish couldn’t help but think this was the first time Harry wasn’t trying to flash a grin or have a smug look or line on him. It was rather nice.

“I’m impressed you know what that word even is,” Harry said. “Not many people do.”

“Well,” Hamish shrugged, “I guess I’m not like many people.”

Harry’s head nearly snapped up at that, and Hamish worried if he had said the wrong thing. He was about to apologize when Harry interrupted.

“No,” he said almost with wonder, “I suppose you’re not.”

Harry’s eyes were getting too intense for him, so he let out a breathy laugh and turned his head forward. “It’s because I’m from the north, isn’t it?”

He heard Harry chuckle next to him. “Yes, the north. That must be it.”

They settled into a comfortable silence as they continued walking towards Harry and James’s flat, with the latter and Percy leading the way.

He hadn’t forgotten about what Harry had said the other day. It's not that he would have been uninterested, it was just that Harry had truly caught him off guard, and Hamish would have thought he’d heard wrong if it weren’t for Harry’s immediate apology afterwards. But there was a part of him that wanted his offer to have been real. He glanced over at Harry who had a small grin on his face. He was a good looking young man, that much was certain. And if his offer _was_ genuine…

Maybe Percy saying yes to this invitation wouldn’t turn out to be as bad as originally thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have the first of LGBTQ+ literature, because there will definitely be reference to more. I originally didn’t want to use _A Single Man_ because, honestly, it felt too easy because of Colin, but it’s such a key piece in gay lit that I felt it was probably choice for James to pick up. It’s also plausible for him to have read it within an afternoon. 
> 
> I’m off on a trip for the next ten days, so I don’t know if I’ll be able to update until after I get back. 
> 
> But I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _We're talking away_   
>  _I don't know what I'm to say_   
>  _I'll say it anyway_   
>  _Today's another day to find you_   
>  _Shying away_   
>  _I'll be coming for your love, okay?_   
> 

“So you’ve always wanted to be a lepidopterist, then?”

“Oh, yes. Ever since I was on the playground and chasing butterflies instead of my other classmates.”

“And you can tell me truthfully right now that you no longer chase butterflies on playgrounds?”

“Absolutely. I chase them in parks instead.”

Hamish let out a laugh, and Harry smiled, feeling the smallest bit of pride at being the reason for that reaction. James’s birthday dinner had gone splendidly, and himself and Hamish had decided to meet up for lunch during their breaks in between classes throughout the school week. It had been two weeks of meeting for lunch now, and Harry would be lying if he said he wasn’t pleased with this arrangement. Hamish was nice. Bloody intelligent, far too smart for his own good, but he never made Harry feel inferior to him. He was easy to talk to, and both of them were always disappointed when it was time for one of them to get to class, not having realised how quickly their breaks had gone by. Yes, Hamish was nice in every way, and Harry was happy that their first meeting (nor their second) was not the defining factor for the budding friendship between them. 

Hamish never brought up that day inside the bookshop again, and neither did Harry, who didn’t know how to feel about that. While he was certainly grateful and thankful that it hadn’t ended up with Harry having a black eye, there was still that small part of him, the deepest part that he mostly tried to keep hidden, that kept telling him that maybe there was something there between them. However, everytime that dark crevice would begin prodding him, Harry would snuff it out, not wanting to take any more chances. Hamish was nice, after all, and Harry didn’t want to take this new friendship for granted.

“Hello, Hamish,” a young woman’s voice said. Harry looked up to see a rather pretty looking girl standing next to them, a shy smile on her face. She had to be one of Hamish’s classmates, Harry assumed.

“Ah, hello, Wendy,” Hamish replied, but Harry noted how he did not seem nearly as enthusiastic as this Wendy woman.

However, she didn’t seem to take notice and beamed at him. “Are you ready for Professor Biondi’s revising sessions this week?”

Hamish nodded his head. “Yeah, I think so. These students at least seem interested.”

Harry forced himself to not raise his brow at how this response caused Wendy to become more excited. “It’ll be exciting running labs all on our own, don’t you think?”

“Yes, quite riveting.”

Harry choked back a laugh, but ended up just coughing instead.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, how rude of me!” She stuck her hand out in front of Harry. “I’m Wendy Cartwright.”

“Harry Hart,” Harry smiled politely and shook it. “So are you—”

“Oh, botty,” she interjected, looking at her watch. “I’d better run or I’ll be late for class. It was lovely meeting you, Harry. Are you sure you don’t want to grab a bite later tonight, Hamish?”

Hamish smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I’m a bit busy tonight, Wendy, I’m sorry.”

“Aw, shame,” she said, the tiniest bit of disappointment flashing on her face. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later then.”

And with that, she was off, but not without giving Hamish an affectionate shoulder squeeze and a smile. Hamish just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“A friend of yours, I presume?” Harry asked with amusement.

“She’s the other teacher’s assistance for Professor Biondi’s class,” Hamish explained. “We’re leading a revising session later this week. She’s excited about it.”

“Excited about the studying, or excited about being with you?” Harry teased.

“She’s…lovely, she really is,” Hamish reassured. “And I do like spending time with her, it’s just…she can be a bit…much, you know?” He paused, the wrinkle in his brows indicating how deep in thought he was. “She makes me nervous. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Harry felt his heart drop out of him, and forced the smile on his face, and before he knew it, he was blathering on. “You should take her to dinner tonight.”

Hamish’s brows shot up. “Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Harry found himself nodding his head determinedly. “You said it yourself, you enjoy spending time with her, and she sometimes makes you nervous, perhaps it’s because you need to see if…if there’s anything more in store for your two.”

Harry hated every single word coming out of his mouth. He didn’t even know  _ why  _ he was saying any of this, encouraging Hamish to go on a date with Wendy bloody Cartwright. Perhaps, if Harry never had the opportunity to take Hamish out on a date, then he’d never have to deal with the obvious rejection (and disgust, he reminded himself as he remembered that day in the Hadley House) with which he’d be met.

“Just give it a shot, Hamish,” Harry continued. “You never know.”

Harry ignored the sound of his heartbreaking as he saw Hamish nod his head. “Yeah. Maybe.”

—

Percy looked up as the bell above the door rang, and wasn’t surprised to find none other than James Spencer sauntering over to the counter. He looked at his watch. 5:57. Right on the dot. 

“Hello, Percy,” James practically purred. 

“James,” he nodded. “Here to look at the cook books again?”

“As always. I’ll be in the back.”

James flashed him a grin and walked towards shelves in the back, and Percy let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. It’s been routine since that fateful birthday dinner, James coming in at 5:57 exactly, saying hello to Percy, and then heading to the back to grab a cookbook and sit at one of the small couches and open its pages. He hadn’t bought any of the books he’s perused yet, but Percy couldn’t blame him—he never seemed to actually be reading. Whenever Percy would walk by that area to rearrange a shelf or put a book back or aid a customer, he’d always catch James quickly dip his head back down towards the same page he had been looking at since he sat down. Percy wasn’t naive, he knew James was looking at him, and he knew James had to be interested in him; however, he didn’t want to encourage it. Not because he didn’t find James appealing in a similar manner—it was hard not to when his lips quirked in just the right way, or when his floppy hair would bounce when he turned his head, or his deep, inviting voice that always greeted him on his way in—no, Percy was simply scared.

Although he’d known about his attraction towards men since his early teen years, Percy had never opened up to anyone about it. He wasn’t one for friends during his school days, and he had always known his family’s stance on the subject (if he had a pound for every time he’s heard the term “perverts” in relation to gay men, he’s sure he could buy the entire inventory of the Hadley House including the bookshelves), so coming out was never high on his list.

With Hamish, Percy was sure he could confide and trust in, should he choose to do so. Every time he thought about it, though, a crippling fear would begin to trickle its way down, and Percy would immediately backtrack. Logically knowing you could trust a person was one thing, but the “what if” in the back of Percy’s mind always kept him from doing more.

And this “what if” was most certainly holding him back from James, as well.

The bell to the shop door rang, breaking Percy out of his reverie. He checked the clock. 6:50, closing time. He began to make his rounds through each shelf and replace missing books, moving them this way and that, and eventually made his way to the back of the shop where he once again caught James promptly shoot his head towards the book in his lap, the page still unturned.

“We’re closing now,” he said walking over to him.

“Right,” James said, closing the book and standing up, “I’ll just put this back then.”

“We’re not a library, you know,” Percy tried to say with a joking tone, “one day, you’ll have to actually buy another book from here.”

James smirked, and Percy immediately began to ready himself for whatever ridiculous line the young man as about to spout. “Maybe it’s not a book I want to take out,” he said smoothly.

Percy forced himself to frown, but could feel the heat creeping up his neck, and knew a faint flush must have made itself visible when James’s grin only grew. Before he could say anything else, Percy cleared his throat and held out his hand. “I can put that back for you.”

“Oh, thank you.” James handed the cookbook over to him, and an almost disappointed look appeared on his face. 

James not being with the familiar smile on his face didn’t sit well with him, and before he knew it, Percy went to place the cookbook in the general area where it should be (he’d go back and fix it later) and picked up another book from the genre he promised his mother he had gotten rid of, and made his way back to James who was still standing in the same spot.

“I have another book for you to read,” he offered, “if you like.”

James took the small novel. “ _ Dancers From the Dance _ ?”

“It’s in the same genre as  _ A Single Man _ ,” Percy said, suddenly feeling nervous. “Not quite as…heartbreaking, though. I feel like this would be more your style.”

James looked up at him and smiled. Not one of his cheeky grins, but a small, genuine one that forced Percy to look away before he got caught staring. “I’ll ring you up at the register, then.”

“I can’t wait to get started reading.”

James came back two days later with the book completed and ready to discuss. Percy didn’t really know what else to expect.

—

James was lying on the couch, one hand behind his head and the other resting on his stomach. His gaze was on the ceiling, but Harry could tell his thoughts were on anything but Nancy Johnson in the flat above them. Not wanting to disturb him, Harry turned back to his textbook, but no matter how many times he tried, he simply could not comprehend what he was reading. There was just too much spinning around in his own head distracting him from learning what exactly were the topics of vertebrate evolution.

He wondered what Hamish was doing right now. Obviously he was on his blasted date with Wendy Cartwright, but what was he  _ doing _ ? Harry could picture it already. 

Hamish was a gentleman no matter how many times he denied it, so he probably held out his arm for her to take while he walked her from her flat to the restaurant. Harry knew which one they were going to since he was the bloody one who helped picked it out. It was a brief ten minute walk from her flat—not too far for her to be put off, and just long enough to engage in some friendly conversation going to and from her home. He was probably flashing her that devastatingly handsome grin, the one where the left side was just a tad bigger than the right. His stupid, gorgeous lopsided grin. He’d open the door for her and guide her in with his hand on the small of her back, pull her chair out for her, be charmingly nervous and laugh at her jokes even if they weren’t funny. He’d insist on paying of course and then help her out of her seat. If things were going well, Hamish would probably even hold her hand on the way back to her flat. He’d try and make their pace a little slower so they could have even the smallest bit more time talking because he enjoyed her company so much. And when they finally reach her flat, Hamish would politely ask if he could kiss her, and she’d say yes. How couldn’t she? It was Hamish after all. 

Harry closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. It shouldn’t be Wendy Cartwright there at all. She didn’t deserve the fortune of sitting with him like that, talking with him like that, spending the night with him like—

“Do you remember when I first came out to you?”

Harry opened his eyes and looked at James whose attention was still trained upwards. 

“Of course I do,” Harry replied. “It was on that couch two years ago, our first night in this flat.”

“And then you started laughing and I thought you were laughing at me.”

Harry smiled softly. “But I was only laughing because I was so relieved. And then I came out to you, too.”

James pushed himself up so he was resting on his elbows and looked at Harry. “Would you have come out to me had I not done so first?”

“I like to think so, yes.” Harry furrowed his brows and set his book on the end table next to him. “What’s all this about, then?”

James sighed flopped his head back down on the couch. “It’s scary coming out to someone,” he said quietly. “Bloody fucking terrifying. Even with the people you love the most, the ones you rationally know would never judge or shun you, it’s still hard because there’s always that part of you that goes what if? What if they do shun me? What if they never want to speak to me again? What if they tell me I don’t deserve to live? What if they tell others?” He let out a mirthless chuckle and shook his head. “I almost broke down telling you I was gay and I’m closer with you than with anyone else in this world. God, I can’t even imagine coming out to my parents, or Uncle Malcolm or Aunt Clara. Well, maybe Aunt Clara. Your mother is always full of surprises.”

Harry nodded his head. “Yes, I suppose she is. But there’s always what if…”

“There’s always what if,” James repeated. 

He stayed silent, but Harry knew there was more to the conversation than that. He had no clue as to where James was taking it, but it was clearly important, and Harry was nothing if not devoted to those he cared for. If this meant something to James, then it meant something to Harry.

After a few more moments, James sat up and swung his legs to the front of the couch, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked at Harry with almost apprehensive eyes. “I want to come out to Percy.”

Harry raised a brow. “Are you sure?” he asked concerned. It was just as they said earlier: there was always what if.

“I want to ask him out, Harry.”

And that caused Harry’s mind to go a million miles an hour in a split second. Was Percy gay? If so, was he out? And what if he wasn’t gay, then what? Would he yell at James? God forbid, try and physically hurt him?

“James,” Harry started, trying to keep the worry out of his voice, “is he…I mean, do you even know if he…are you sure—”

“Yes, I’m sure,” James said with a little more conviction. “He’s kind and lovely and so smart and clever, and  _ god _ , he’s so handsome. There’s a connection between us, Harry, I know there is. He has to feel it, too, there’s no way he can’t.”

Harry looked at his cousin, eyes wide with hope and longing, and possibly the smallest bit of doubt. While Harry was never ashamed of being a bit on the romantic side, James fell far deeper into the realm of romance. He believed in love at first sight, eyes meeting and the world stopping, and hearts synching into rhythm together. He believed in gifts having the fondest and deepest meanings and treating even the most minute physical touch as a moment to treasure. Many nights had Harry listened to James lament over boys who’d politely smile at him after ordering a drink or accidentally brushing hands with one while walking through the halls.

But this…this was different.

“I just…I don’t want you to get hurt, James,” Harry said. “I know there’s been some progress made—”

“There’s been so much progress made—”

“But not enough.” It came out a little stronger than Harry intended, but it got James to stop and listen. “Northern Ireland has only just taken out the law that made being in gay relationships illegal. France only just stopped saying that being gay is a mental illness. And with that damned gay-related immune deficiency taking over, people are beginning to be more terrified of people like us. It’s a risk coming out right now, James, let alone asking a man out, and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“It’s not as though I’m coming out to the whole of England, Harry, it would only be Percy,” James argued.

“And we don’t know what Percy’s stance is on us. For all you know, coming out to Percy could mean coming out to the world.”

“But what if it means he gets to come out, too? You felt safe telling me after I did it first, maybe he just needs someone to do that for him.”

Harry studied James and the desperate and passionate look on his face. He had already decided, and Harry predicted that he was going to go through with his decision whether Harry approved or not.

He sighed and then asked quietly, “And what if he doesn’t? What if he’s not gay? What if he ends up being so vehemently against people like us? What then? Is it really worth risking what you already have?”

“If there’s even the slightest possibility that we could have so much more than what we already have,” James said with a quiet determination, “then I’d go through every what if the world can throw.”

Harry couldn’t help but quietly smile. There it was again. That damn hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long! But this story (as well as myself) is back on track and ready to hit the ground running. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> The book Percy gives James is _Dancer From the Dance_ by Andrew Holleran (1978). It takes place in 1970s New York, and is about a young man from the Midwest who leaves his heterosexual, lawyer life behind to explore the gay club life in NYC. I'd recommend giving it a read--it definitely is a book I think James would truly enjoy, too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _When you need the hand of another man_   
>  _One you really can surrender with_   
>  _I will wait for you like I always do_   
>  _There's something there_   
>  _That can't compare with any other_   
> 

There was a spring in James’s step as he made his way to the Hadley House after his classes. Checking his watch, he saw that it was 5:54. Perfect, he’d make it there just in time, as usual.

It’d been a week since he’d talked with Harry about Percy, and James had taken his time to figure out exactly what he was going to say to the dashing and adorable bookworm that ran the secondhand bookshop on St. Edward’s Passage. Percival Hadley was special, and James wasn’t going to ask him to dinner as though he were some random stranger from Club Mud. He had a bouquet of lovely ranunculus and peonies, the friendly and helpful florist telling him the meaning behind both flowers, and James believed that was exactly what he wanted Percival to know. He also ignored her when she said she hoped that his girl would like them.

An eager smile appeared on his face as he turned the corner and saw the now familiar red of the Hadley House. Straightening up and making sure his bundle of flowers were absolutely perfect, he took a breath and stepped inside. His excitement was brought to a halt, though, as he saw an older women scowling at Percy and wagging her finger at him, Percival’s fists and jaw clenched as he stared straight past her.

“I thought I told you to get rid of this,” she hissed. “This is a fine establishment, Percival, and our family will  _ not _ be part of this disgusting, new age nonsense.”

The ring of the bell above the door must have alerted them of his presence because both of their heads turned his way. He busied himself with a small display near the register so as not to make it seem as though he was eavesdropping, the woman looking back at Percival and lowering her voice, but not low enough for James not to hear. 

“You get rid of that  _ now _ . I don’t care if someone donated it or gave you money themselves to sell it here, this family does  _ not  _ condone filth like that.”

She gave Percy one last look before storming out, the tension in the small shop not leaving with her. Looking at Percy, he saw the slightly younger man let out a tired sigh, his shoulders dropping slightly. 

“Percy…?” James started quietly. 

Percy didn’t respond and moved past James, and he wondered if he was going to leave right along with that woman, but instead he turned their  _ Open! _ sign to  _ Closed _ . Turning off the front light, Percy grabbed a small novel that was sitting on the counter and began to make his way to the back of the shop. 

“Follow me,” he said quietly, and James could do nothing but oblige, a flood of questions tearing through his mind. 

There was no one else in the store, and the only light left in the shop were the last streams of the setting sun, and the few lamps that littered the reading area. 

Percival sat down at the table James always claimed, and James grabbed another chair to sit down next to him. He said nothing for a moment before curiously eyeing the bouquet still in James’s hand. “Flowers?”

“Ah, for our table in our flat,” James said. “No importance.” He mumbled that last bit, placing the bundle on the floor next to his bag. Whoever that woman was, she definitely put Percy in a most upset mood, and, though enthusiastic in his own right, James knew how to read a room, and it seemed as though now was not the moment to ask Percival Hadley out on a date. “Tough customer, then?” he asked.

Percival scoffed and scrubbed a hand across his face. “Hardly,” he muttered. “My mother. She…well, she’s not very keen on some of the books I choose to sell here. You know this is a secondhand bookshop,” Percival said as he looked on at the shelves standing in front of them. “People come here not just to buy books, but to sell them to us. And sometimes, we get books of this genre.” He gestured to the book sitting on the table, the title  _ Maurice _  by E. M. Forster clear across the cover. Glancing from the book to Percy, James could see the familiar tinge of pink begin to creep up his neck. “The genre of books that I suggest to you. Mother is disgusted by such writing.”

Percival stopped speaking for a moment and closed his eyes while James’s brows furrowed in concern and curiosity. He’d seen many people that hold the same beliefs as Percy’s mother. Hell, his and Harry’s family most certainly weren’t afraid to voice their opinions on the sodomites and perverts that plagued the world, especially Harry’s father. It was the reason why he and Harry never came out to their family, nor could they see themselves ever doing so. The way Percival’s eyes were knitted shut now, however, felt familiar. He could see the struggle etched on this man’s face, from his eyes screwed shut to the crease formed between his brows, even the set tense of his jaw and the purse of his lips. It dawned on him.

This had to be what James looked like before he came out to Harry.

“Percy,” he said quietly. When Percy didn’t move, James gently placed a hand on his arm. “Percy, please look at me.”

James could feel the poor man tense slightly as he touched him, but soon relaxed again as he opened his eyes, wariness and caution clearly written in his irises.

“Percy,” James began again, “I’ve loved the books you’ve suggested to me so far. I’m sure you already know why.” He huffed out a small laugh, and put on what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “But…well, I suppose it’s one thing assuming it, and another actually hearing it.” 

James’s heart was pounding in his chest. This was almost more terrifying than straight out asking Percival to have dinner with him. For some reason that he couldn’t quite pinpoint why, simply telling Percy who he was, baring his soul out for this man that he’s only known for the better part of one month, set off a wave of nerves inside James, as though the moon itself rising outside was pulling them closer and closer to the surface. He took a deep breath.

“I’m gay, Percy. And…I feel as though I can tell you that, and you won’t sock me in the face.” James tried to make it sound like a joke, but that bit of fear was still there. What if.

James stayed silent, allowing whatever was to be said or done next be by Percy, whether that actually be a punch to his jaw, slurs yelled at him, telling him to never return to this establishment, or, God willing, have Percy accept him for who he was. James had always been told by people around him that he trusted too much and too easily. Well, James thought, the faster you find out you can’t trust someone in the first place, then the faster you can rid them from your life. James prayed beyond hope that he wouldn’t have to cast Percy aside.

After what felt like an age, Percy’s head nodded slightly. “Then I think you’d very much like this book, James,” he said quietly as he picked it up  _ Maurice _  and handed it to him. “I've heard about it for years, but never got a hold of it until yesterday. I haven’t had the chance to read it yet, but I’ve heard that it’s rather good.”

James tilted his head slightly. “Would you like to read it together, then?”

Percy nodded, visibly relaxing as he scooted his chair closer to James. “Yes, I think I would.”

James gave what he hoped was an encouraging look before opening the novel to page one. Just as he was about to begin reading out loud, Percy interrupted him.

“James?”

“Yes?” he said looking back towards Percy.

Percy wasn’t looking at him, his eyes steady and concentrated on the novel in James’s hands. After a moment, he slowly looked up at James. “Me, too,” he said quietly.

James’s eyes softened. “I suppose you’ll like this book a lot, too.”

Then, the most beautiful thing James had ever seen happened: Percy smiled.

\---

Harry was sitting on the couch reading his textbook, or at least, he was attempting to read, but he couldn’t find it in himself to concentrate on the evolution of the vertebrae. Although it had been a week since Harry had convinced Hamish to go on that date with Wendy bloody Wasserstein, he still couldn’t rid that day out of his mind. Neither he nor Merlin had brought it up at all during their daily lunches, though. He didn’t know whether that was a good or bad sign, but he hadn’t noticed Hamish acting any different than he did on that day Wendy came up to them during that break, so Harry tried not to dwell on it too much.

Unfortunately for Harry, that was all his mind insisted on focusing.

He groaned and closed his eyes, letting his head fall to the back of the couch. No other boy had ever frustrated him so. Then again, no other boy Harry had been with had ever lasted past one night, and he and Hamish weren’t even together. It was as though this clever boy from Aberdeen made Harry want every day to be Tuesday, but that simply wasn’t possible no matter how much he wished it to be so.

A rattling against the door broke Harry from his lamenting. Looking up at the clock on the wall, he saw that it was a little later than James usually came home. When the door opened, he immediately saw the bright pink and yellow ranunculus and peonies in James’s hand, and arched a brow.

“For me?” Harry said. “Oh, you really shouldn’t have.”

He was ready to tease more until he saw the expression on James’s face—an odd mixture of quiet solemnity and elation—and remembered today was the day he had finally planned to ask out Percy. “How did things go with Perce?”

James sighed as he set the bouquet on the dining table and flopped on the armchair, rubbing his eyes as though he had just woken up. “Things went well.”

“Well, you certainly don’t look like the man who just snagged Percival Hadley on a date.”

“Oh, I didn’t ask him out.”

Harry blinked. “But things went well?”

“Yes, splendidly, really,” James said as he sat up.

Nothing was making sense, and Harry leaned forward in his seat. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s…” James paused, his lips pursing in concentration. “It’s not the right time.”

This wasn’t the usual James. When James was besotted with a man (and he knew said man was at least of the same liking), he wouldn’t hesitate to attempt and sweep him off his feet, claiming that there was no time to waste. And when a man refused his offers, James would lament over it for a day or two, sighing over the what-could-have-beens, before bouncing back immediately and saying that he’s simply one step closer to finding The One. 

With Percival, the man could barely contain his excitement after their first meeting. James had spent more time with him at the Hadley House—Harry even joining a few times when Hamish was working as well—because he wanted to get to know Percival a bit more, get to know his likes and dislikes, before deciding on how to propose a date to the man. Finally, James had come home one night and told Harry that Percy was the traditional sort, so privacy and flowers were most certainly the way to go. But because he’s James, Harry thought glancing at the flowers laying still on the table, he must have spoken to the florist at length about types and their meanings.

The idea that James had everything planned out and  _ didn’t _ follow through with them was out of character to say the least. Especially when it came to Percival Hadley.

“Not the right time?” Harry repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

“He doesn’t need some poncy chef attempting to win his affections right now. In all honesty, that would probably only add to his current stress,” James sighed, but a small smile graced his face. “Right now, he needs a friend. And I will gladly fill that role when Hamish isn’t at the shop to do so.”

Harry stared at him wide-eyed. “Who are you and what have you done with my cousin?”

James tilted his head back and let out a laugh. “Oh, Harry, when you finally get off your arse and talk to Hamish, I’m sure you’ll understand.”

Harry scowled at him as he picked his textbook back up. “I’m older than you, in case you forgot.”

“And yet,” James said with a smug grin as he got up to go to his room, “I seem to have my lot more together than you when it comes to these matters.”

Harry picked up a throw pillow and chucked it at his closing door, his laughter ringing from behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter than I intended, but this is just where it felt right to stop. Next chapter should be up much sooner!
> 
> Ranunculus flowers mean radiant charm and attractiveness, and peonies represent the romance between two strangers.
> 
>  _Maurice_ by E. M. Forster was published in 1971, narrating the the life of a gay man in the early 1900s. It's so good. So. Freaking. Good. And it even has a happy ending!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _And she's watching him with those eyes_   
>  _And she's loving him with that body, I just know it_   
>  _Yeah, and she's holding her in his arms late at night_   
> 

“And don’t forget to bring your student cards to the exam— _aaand_ they’re gone.”

He heard Wendy laugh lightly next to him. “They’re just excited to get on home now,” she said.

Hamish grumbled as he closed his binder and began packing away his various notebooks and papers into his backpack. “They could at least try and seem more interested.”

“They’re plenty interested,” Wendy said. “They came to this revising session, after all, and you know they wouldn’t have cared to come if they weren’t interested.”

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” Hamish conceded.

“So Hamish,” Wendy began, and he had to hold in another sigh. He knew where this was going. Instead of revealing how tired he felt on the inside, he turned to Wendy with a polite smile. “I know you said last week you weren’t able to grab some dinner, but I was wondering if you’d be free tonight?”

Hamish opened his mouth to once again decline her offer, but stopped himself. He remembered what Harry had told him, that he should try and take Wendy out on a date. He’d almost laughed in that poor man’s face at how incorrect and misguided that advice had been. While he wasn’t the most open about his sexuality, Hamish never once was ashamed of it. When you grew up in the Scottish slums, there were far worse things a man could be than a bloody pouf.

The enigma that was Harry Hart continued to plague his mind for days, ever since James’s birthday. At their first meeting, Hamish could have sworn that Harry was coming onto him, but his immediate retraction of his offer gave him pause. And then there was the night he and James had come to the Hadley House to invite them over for James’s birthday dinner, where Hamish genuinely thought he and Harry were having a real connection. That look he had given him after Hamish had jokingly said he’s not like other people was alarming, and every time they met for lunch felt like he was being drawn closer and closer to the budding lepidopterist.

He would talk to Percival about it if it weren’t for his friend having to deal with his mother, ghastly woman that she was. He had never come out to Percival. Not due to any self-shame, but simply because Percy never asked. Of course, Hamish never suspected he would ask, but it was simply how he was. Ask and he’ll tell without hesitance or pause, but otherwise, his private life was just that: private.

“So, what do you say, Hamish?”

Hamish was taken away by his thoughts as he turned his head back from his school things to Wendy. She was his friend, and she had never shown any dislike or vehemence against people like him, and too many thoughts were swirling in his mind, so perhaps it was time he finally tried and talk with someone about them. And perhaps Wendy was that person.

“Sure, Wendy, I’d be glad to.” Wendy’s face beamed, and before she could get her hopes up any higher, Hamish continued. “As friends. I’m afraid I’m…not in a place to be seeing a girl right now.”

It wasn’t a lie. He wasn’t in a place to see any woman at all. Wendy was clever, though, and he should have known that she would’ve picked up on that phrasing. She frowned, before realisation spread across her face.

“Oh. _Oh_.” Her lips curled into a soft, understanding smile. “Why didn’t you just tell me, Hamish?”

Hamish’s eyes widened slightly before letting out a breathy, nervous laugh. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Well, I never really tell anyone myself. If someone asks, though…” He trailed off and shrugged, the relief of being accepted for who he was calming his nerves.

“God, and to think I was even asking you out in front of Harry!”

At that, Hamish couldn’t help but be alarmed. “I—what?”

“Harry,” Wendy repeated with a smile as she slung her bag across her shoulder. “He’s your,” she looked around to make sure the room was empty, “He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?”

Hamish was caught off-guard, once again by Harry Hart, even if he wasn’t even there to do it to him directly. “He and I...well, we’re not exactly—”

It was Wendy’s turn to look on in confusion. “But you two seemed so…” She studied him for a moment before smiling once again and shaking her head. “Oh, Hamish. Come on. Dinner’s on me. Let’s talk this through.”

Hamish put on his backpack and walked out the classroom with Wendy, not sure whether he should feel even more relieved or embarrassed by his obvious feeling towards Harry Hart.

\---

James walked up the flight of stairs to the flat after yet another night at the Hadley House. A week had gone by since that night with Percy and _Maurice_ , and since then, James could already feel the change in their friendship. Before, Percy had always been aloof towards him—or at least, he would try his best to be aloof and remain so until James would eventually get him to crack that stoic facade. Beneath that passive exterior laid a young man who was struggling to find his own way in the world.

Through their talks, James found that Percy was thinking about going into publishing, specifically for books of the gay and lesbian genre. While he didn’t know if it would be financially successful, Percy believed it would be easier for people to gain access to books such as these without having to deliver them under the counter as though they were a drug deal. James could feel himself falling more and more for the quiet bookshop worker, but tried not to allow himself to dwell on it too much. Percy needed him as a friend right now, after all, and muddling that up wouldn’t help anyone.

Hamish had even been working that night, which pleased James to no end. It was obvious as to why Harry developed feelings for the man, and he couldn’t think of anyone better suited for Harry. Hamish, like Percy, was the quiet sort, but James could see the mischievousness in him. Particularly when he mentioned what Percy’s favourite dessert was when Percy had gone off to help a customer. James had blinked in confusion, but Hamish continued marking the papers he was grading. He had barely gotten another sound out before Hamish gave him a very pointed look, and it struck him.

Hamish knew. How, James wasn’t sure. Obviously, Percy hadn’t told him, because he knew Percy wasn’t the kind of man to go and tell other people’s secrets. He chalked it up to Hamish just being brilliant and clever (and James not exactly being subtle about his hanging around the shop), and the fact that he was giving James tips on Percival only gave him more points in his book. Yes, this was an excellent match for Harry. If only either of them would get it together and make some sort of move.

Reaching the door to their flat, James took out his keys and entered, his serene smile vanishing at the sight of Harry moping on the armchair.

“I suppose asking if you’re okay would be a moot point?” he asked as he closed and locked the door, placing his keys in the bowl next to him.

“It’s nothing,” Harry sighed as he draped an arm across his eyes.

James rolled his eyes as he dropped off his canvas bag of foods and ingredients on the kitchen counter. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Rich, coming from you,” Harry scoffed, but there was nothing but endearment in his tone.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” James flashed a smile as he saw Harry get up and sit down on one of the stools on the other side of the counter. He began removing items from his bags. “So what’s got you all in a tiff?”

Harry let out a sigh and leaned his elbows on the counter, his head falling into his hands. “Wendy bloody Cartwright.”

James blinked. “Who?”

“Hamish’s girlfriend.”

Images of earlier that night of Hamish’s face lighting up at the mere mention of Harry whirred through his mind. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“It’s true,” Harry insisted as he lifted his head out of his hands. “Last week, she ran into us when we were having lunch, and she asked him to dinner. He said no and she left, but when I asked him about it, he said it was because he didn’t know how to feel about her. So I told him to try and take her on a date to see how he’d feel afterwards, and he said he’d try it out.”

“Are you insane?” James could have smacked him. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Harry was smarter than this. “What in god’s name possessed you to suggest to Hamish to ask someone else out? And a woman at that, when it’s so clear he’s—”

“ _No_ , he’s not, James,” Harry interrupted. “He wouldn’t have asked out Wendy Cartwright if he was.”

“Because you told him to!” James stared unbelievingly at Harry’s stubborn face. “And it _is_ possible for people to like both, Harry, but with Hamish, I can assure you that he only has eyes for men. Particularly, you.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes, because asking out Wendy Cartwright has to mean—”

“ _Enough about Wendy Cartwright_! Don’t be cruel to the poor girl just because you were the one to push Hamish towards her.”

James let out a frustrated breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. Taking a moment, he opened his eyes to see Harry sitting with his arms folded, his expression alternating between frustrated and devastated.

“Harry,” he continued in a softer tone, “why are you so scared of taking a chance on Hamish? And don’t say it’s because he’s not interested. If you don’t at least try and ask him out, then you will always just be right here, pouting about the flat.”

Harry’s jaw was set as he took this in, and James hoped beyond hope that his idiot of a cousin would take his advice.

“I’m not pouting,” he muttered, and James let out a small laugh. “My face simply looks upset.”

James shook his head fondly as he began prepping to begin cooking them dinner. “Oh, Harry,” he sighed, “you gay disaster.”

Harry actually snorted, and James glanced up in time to see the grin on his face. “Like you aren’t one, as well. I feel as though you live at the Hadley House now rather than here.”

“You know what could remedy that?” James asked as Harry made his way to the other side of the counter and began washing his hands to help with dinner.

“What?”

“Inviting Hamish and Percy over here for dinner.”

He laughed as he dodged Harry splashing him with water.

\---

“I’m telling you, Hamish, you should just ask him out.”

“But it’s not that easy, Wendy,” Hamish groaned as he walked her to her flat.

Wendy huffed out a laugh. “Yes, it is. He’s besotted over you, you’re besotted over him, he has to say yes. Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because he’s straight?” Hamish said immediately.

“I don’t think so,” she shook her head. “From what you’ve told me, he’s been gone over you since you first met.”

Hamish snorted. “When we first met, I nearly threw him in front of a bus.”

“That sounds highly unlikely.”

They stopped walking as they reached her building, and Hamish let out a sigh. “He’s just…I don’t even know how to explain it. Confusing doesn’t even begin to cover it. He’s just…he’s just _Harry_ , you know?”

Wendy gave him a sympathetic smile and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll understand what you mean once you finally sweep him off his feet and introduce me to him proper.”

Hamish smiled slightly and shook his head. “You’re really determined to have me ask him out, aren’t you?”

Wendy pulled him in for a hug, and Hamish returned it in earnest. “You’re a good man, Hamish, and you’re my friend. If he makes you happy, then why shouldn’t I want you to make a move?”

She pulled away and gave him one last smile before heading inside. Wendy really was a lovely girl, and he truly hoped that she was right about Harry.

Hamish turned around to begin walking to his own small flat, popping the collar of his leather jacket when a cool breeze began to pick up. Checking his watch, he hummed thoughtfully. It wasn’t too late yet, and it was a Friday, after all. At the corner, he continued walking forward instead of turning right to the direction of his home. Club Mud wasn’t too far from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter--a bit of a filler, but the next one will be anything but!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _Oh, I can't fight this feeling any longer_   
>  _And yet, I'm still afraid to let it flow_   
>  _What started out as friendship has grown stronger_   
>  _I only wish I had the strength to let it show_   
>  _I tell myself that I can't hold out forever_   
>  _I said there is no reason for my fear_   
>  _'Cause I feel so secure when we're together_   
>  _You give my life direction, you make everything so clear_   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER** : homophobic violence, and consensual teenage makeout sesh but only for like three seconds

**Aberdeen, 1976**

Hamish felt his back slam against the brick wall behind him, the sting quickly melting away as a pair of lips attached themselves to his neck. He immediately dug his fingers into Cameron’s hair, turning his other hand into a fist and bringing it up to his mouth to stifle a moan. They were hidden in a dark alley, the halos from the streetlamps not even reaching where his friend was pinning him against the building. His heart was thudding in his chest, blood pounding in his ears. This was new, this was different, this was absolutely fucking perfect. He dragged Cameron up by the hair to crash their lips together, the sensation of this forbidden teenage tryst searing itself into him with every frantic kiss. He’d had a feeling that Cameron was also harbouring some sort of affection for him, but Hamish was too wary to explore the depths of those emotions further.

Thankfully, Cameron wasn’t.

All of a sudden, Cameron’s lips were ripped from his own, and he felt a fist collide with his face, causing him to stumble to the side. He cupped his jaw, the pain beginning to set in as he tried to get a grip of what was going on.

“You bloody fuckin’ _poufs_!”

Hamish looked up just in time to dodge another blow to the face, and immediately swung out and hit whoever it was in the stomach, causing him to double over. Hearing groaning, Hamish turned to see Cameron on the ground covering his face, while another guy--Rupert from their class--was sending kicks anywhere he could find. At once, all Hamish could see was red.

He launched himself at Rupert, grabbing by the collar and yanking him away from Cameron, and began sending out punch after punch until Rupert was begging for him to stop. A firm grip on his shoulder violently turned him around, and Hamish automatically sent a hard blow to the guy’s—Timothy, he noted—face, causing him to cry out and clutch his nose as blood began pouring out.

“If you lot’ve got a fuckin’ problem with us,” he began, venom dripping with every word, “go ahead and try that again.”

Rupert and Timothy hesitated, but in the end, lifted their chins in defiance. “Disgustin’ fucks like you deserve it.”

“And ugly pricks like you deserve worse. Get the fuck out of here.”

The two of them sneered, but Rupert nudged Timothy and flicked his head to the side. “C’mon, let’s go. We stay any longer, we might catch their fuckin’ disease.”

They turned to leave, but not before Timothy spat at Hamish’s feet, and then they were out of sight, leaving Hamish standing there huffing and Cameron still lying on the ground in the alleyway.

The adrenaline beginning to wear off, Hamish turned to Cameron and crouched down, shakily and gently peeling his hands away from his face. There were tears in the boy’s eyes, and Hamish felt his his heart lerch. A bruise was already beginning to form around his eye, and a bit of blood was smeared above his brow. Hamish took the handkerchief in his pocket and gently wiped it away.

“Just a scratch,” he murmured with the smallest smile. “C’mon. I’ll fix you up at my house. No one’s home for the rest of the weekend.”

Slowly, Cameron nodded, and Hamish helped him up from sitting to standing.

“You ever see them again,” Hamish said quietly, “you tell me. No one’s gonna mess with you while I’m around, alright?”

Cameron nodded once more. “One day,” he said quietly as they turned a corner, “we’ll get out of here, Hamish. You and me.”

Hamish glanced at his friend, but said nothing else as they walked back to the current foster home he was currently living in, the dark of the night disguising their limps and supporting arms as two friends, arms slung around each other, enjoying an inebriated night around town.

\---

**Cambridge, 1982**

Hamish idly traced the scar on the side of his chin, a small reminder of how a majority of the world viewed people like him. Not that he gave a fuck, mind, but getting into an unnecessary brawl was a tiring and time consuming activity that could easily be replaced with literally anything else. Tinkering with a clock, for instance, he thought as he turned the small analogue desk clock over in his hands and prodded it with a screwdriver. Or snogging your best friend whom you’ve had a crush on for over a year.

Yes, both of those sounded much more pleasant than getting into fisticuffs with two homophobic and bigoted arsholes from class.

He wondered if Cameron ever made it out of Aberdeen like he wanted, having lost touch with him after telling him he had gotten into Cambridge. He had become despondent after that, spending less and less time with Hamish until he wouldn’t even return his calls. Hamish had left him a letter the day before he left with the address for the small studio flat he had gotten for himself (and was now just barely able to pay off each month with savings and working as both a tudor and in the Hadley House), but he had never gotten a letter in return. It had been three years since he last spoke to Cameron, and he hoped that the man was doing well, wherever he was.

His thoughts then came around to that of Harry Hart, a topic his mind usually tended to fixate on since their first meeting. That dinner with Wendy had put a lot into Hamish’s mind. He was glad that he had someone to confide in about Harry, and it was especially nice getting the perspective of someone that wasn’t as familiar with Harry as Percy or James were. Harry, while yes, he was throwing mixed signals, still remained every bit as a man that Hamish would still be very interested in. He didn’t know if it was Harry’s hasty, “only joking, of course,” from their first conversation that still kept him wary about making any attempts or offers, or if it were simply that Hamish feared losing Harry’s friendship should things go awry, whether that be through rejection or them failing as an item.

The bell indicating the entrance of a customer broke Hamish from his reverie, and he looked up to see James Spencer walking in with his usual canvas bag, but also a picnic basket of all things. Glancing at the clock, he held in a smirk as he saw it was 5:57. Exactly on the dot, as always.

James turned to him and smiled. “Hello, Hamish. How are you—”

“He’s in the back, James.”

James stopped, a blush beginning to creep onto his cheeks, and Hamish couldn’t hold in his smirk any longer. The man was absolutely smitten, and it was clear to anyone who spent more than two minutes around he and Percy. While no trouble had come of it yet, Hamish hoped that no one had caught on and would begin harassing his best friend and new friend about it. As far as Hamish knew, James hadn’t made a move, and he didn’t even know if Percival was gay and uninterested, or simply too polite and nervous to turn away the man’s advances. Or perhaps he was completely clueless, but he had more faith in Percy than that.

James collected himself quickly, sending him the now familiar cheeky grin and a wink. “Thank you, Hamish.”

Hamish laughed softly to himself as he watched James practically swagger his way to the back of the shop.

At least someone was doing something about their feelings around here.

\---

“Not working too hard, I hope?”

Percy looked up from the stack of books he was piling up to put back on their respective shelves and was confused (and perhaps a tad bit delighted) to see James standing there, an undisturbed grin on his face and basket and canvas bag in his hands. His brows furrowed.

“What’s all this, then?”

James’s grin only widened as he walked over to his usual table and set the basket on top of it. Opening the lid, he carefully pulled out a covered dish, but the smell immediately invaded Percy’s senses, his mouth already watering.

“Is that—?”

James pulled off the lid with a flourish. “A banoffee pie? Hamish mentioned it was your favourite the other week, so I decided to take a crack at it, and thought there wouldn’t be a better judge for its flavour than you.”

Percy could feel his palms begin to sweat, the back of his mind elated that James had made this especially for him, and not just because he wanted to challenge himself with a new recipe. He cleared his throat as he tried to shove away his useless thoughts.

“I—we’re about to start closing, James, it’s Friday.”

“Then think of it as a treat after a long day’s work.”

He had that glint in his eyes, the same one that Percy saw that first day he came into the shop, that wouldn’t go away the rest of that night at his birthday, the same one that always seemed to be glistening whenever he tried to get some sort of reaction—whether it be a blush, a smile, a laugh—out of him.

And now, it was paired with banoffee pie. His favourite. He was going to kill Hamish.

He sighed inwardly. “...okay.”

Percy tried to ignore the expression on James’s face, smiling as though it were his birthday all over again, and picked up the stack of discarded books he had collected and began travelling to each shelf, putting them away accordingly. After cleaning up and doing a final sweep of the shop, Percy ended up at the cash register with Hamish, counting the day’s earnings.

“He brought us a banoffee pie, you know,” Percy said quietly.

“No, he brought _you_ a banoffee pie,” Hamish corrected.

Percy pursed his lips as he wrote down the total of the day’s profits. “Why did you tell him what my favourite dessert was?”

Hamish shrugged as he put on his leather jacket. “In case he wanted to make it for you for your birthday.”

Percy frowned. “My birthday isn't until May.”

He had a smug look on his face as he turned to look at him. “Maybe he can get some practice in.”

Narrowing his eyes at his friend, Percy began closing the register and locking everything away. “Well, you’re staying to have some, aren’t you?”

Hamish huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “God no, that thing’s far too sweet for my tastes. How you can enjoy that sugar-filled monstrosity is beyond me.”

“It’s _delicious_.”

“It’ll also give you a heart attack,” Hamish said as he picked up his backpack from under the counter and walked out from behind the counter to the front door. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Hamish, please stay.”

Hamish paused, his hand on the door handle, before turning towards Percy, who was sure he had to look as terrified as he felt (though what he was terrified about, he couldn’t exactly say), and let out a sigh. He gave him a smile, which Percy was sure was meant to be encouraging. “It’s just pie, Percy. Have some fun, yeah?”

And with that, he gave one last smile, turned the _Open!_ sign to _Closed_ , and walked out, the bell ringing behind him. Percy closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.

Just another night.

Just a pie.

Just James.

Oh, _fuck_.

He mentally shook himself and straightened up, turning off the front light and heading to the back where (god help him) James had set up the table with plates and cutlery he brought himself, along with a bottle he was currently pulling out of his canvas bag.

“Is that wine?” he asked as he approached the rather intimate setting.

“You can’t very well have banoffee pie without dessert wine.” James had said it so matter-of-fact, he almost seems insulted that Percy would ever insinuate that the wine was too much. Percy sat down next to his friend as James began cutting slices for each of them.

“I hope you didn’t spend too long on this,” Percy said as James put a slice on his plate and then reached for the bottle of wine.

“Nonsense, I adore trying out new recipes, you know that,” James waved off as he set the bottle down, and then looked at him expectantly.

Percy frowned and shuffled a bit uncomfortably. “What? Why are you watching me?”

“I need to see your face when you take your first bite to know how it tastes.”

“My words after my first bite won’t be good enough of a critique?”

“Oh, Percy,” James sighed with a smile. “The true critique of a chef’s cooking comes from the expression that first bite causes. Do their eyes close in satisfaction and joy? Or do they widen in surprise and excitement? Or perhaps they’re even confused as to how delicious something could possibly taste. There’s so many possibilities, Percy. A person can disguise their opinions through words. But how they look after that first bite…it’s all there.”

Percy stared at this ridiculous man. He couldn’t be real, or he at least had to be taking the piss out of him, as he’d heard Hamish say over the years. There was no way a sane human being could sit there next to him and say that string of words to him in all seriousness.

“Oh, and do make sure to take a sip of the wine after your first bite, it’s the most excellent pairing, if I do say so myself. It’s sweet, but not too much, and has the most lovely hints of walnut and orange blossom. From Muscat de Beaumes de Venise, Domaine des Bernardins. 1976 bottle. Isn’t its colour just exquisite?”

Or James Spencer truly was as absurd as he came off as, but that damn grin on his face only made him seem that much more charming. Percy cleared his throat and nodded his head.

“If you say so, James.”

Picking up his fork, he tried to ignore the way James’s eyes were boring into him, knowing he was analysing his face for the smallest reaction. He cut a small piece off, and the moment the bite reached his tongue, all Percy could see and hear and taste was heaven. This was so obviously the best banoffee pie he’d ever eaten, including the special one his grandmother used to make for Christmas before her passing.

“Hm, I never considered sounds of pleasure in measuring someone’s appreciation for a dish, but that _is_ good to know.”

Percy froze, embarrassment beginning to flood his system as he swallowed, the delicious bite sliding down as he could feel the (what he should really now be used to) blush creep up his neck.

“Um, I beg your pardon?” he asked as he turned his head towards James, though he already knew the answer.

“That was a very guttural noise you made there, Percival.” James had a satisfied, smug look on his face. “Shall I leave so you and the dessert can have a moment alone?”

Percy averted his eyes and cleared his throat. “No, that won’t be necessary,” he mumbled.

“Percy, I’m only teasing,” James laughed lightly as he put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s rather flattering, actually. Even Mummy hasn’t given me a reaction like that, and she’s always overselling it whenever I have her try one of my treats.”

Percy shrugged as he went to take another bite, this time making sure to be fully aware of himself, but James stopped him.

“Wait, sip of wine first.”

Percy paused and put his fork back down, reaching for the wine and giving it a bit of a twirl, allowing it to breathe. Taking a sip, he nodded in approval.

“You’re quite right, this tastes very good.”

James beamed. “I’m glad you think so. Alright, let’s really dig in now, shall we?”

Percy had one more slice and one more glass of wine, while James allowed himself two more of each. They talked about how James’s classes were going, what other new recipes he was attempting to make, and what new books Percy had gotten his hands on.

“Hamish is taking a contemporary literature class this term, did you know?” Percy asked as he finished off his second glass of wine.

“Is he really?” James said with a smile. “I’m sure you’re helping him out with that, then.”

“I suppose,” Percy shrugged. “All of the books he’s had to read so far have been American literature. Oh, I meant to mention to you, do you remember that last book we discussed?”

“ _Maurice_? Of course, it was bloody brilliant. It’s amazing when you can read about people like us and…well, see that they have a happy ending.” A thoughtful look appeared on James’s face.

“I know what you mean,” Percy said quietly. “But Hamish’s class recently read that as well, and apparently, there was an another ending to it that was never published.”

James’s brows shot up. “Really, now?”

Percy nodded and tried not to smile, pleased that James was genuinely interested in this. “Yes, they’re finishing up discussing it this week, and then Hamish said he’d loan me his copy of it. And I was wondering if reading that would be of any interest to you—”

“Oh, it’s most definitely of interest to me!” James replied grinning wide. “Absolutely fascinating. Not published for decades, and then years later, another piece of the story is revealed.”

James looked at his watch and frowned. “I’m afraid I should get going now, Percy. It’s getting rather late, and I’m sure Harry is pacing the floor right now wondering where I am.”

Percy nodded, shoving down the disappointing feeling of James having to leave, though he didn’t quite understand why. He knew he’d probably see James all of tomorrow, especially considering it was a Saturday and he had no classes, and they had spent the better part of two hours sitting and chatting and eating and drinking. It wasn’t as though Percy was deprived of his presence and company. He helped James pack everything up into his basket and canvas bag, but as he was about to hand him over the rest of the pie, James shook his head.

“The rest of that is yours, of course. And the wine. Think of them as thank you gifts for your constant book suggestions and lovely friendship and company.”

He stood up, and Percy followed suit.

“Are you quite sure?”

“Yes,” James replied with a playful grin, “I’m _quite_ sure.”

As James threw on his jacket and picked up his things, Percy’s mind began whirring fast, staring at the pie and wine sitting on the table, the dim lighting playing against the bottle, giving it a lovely copper glow. Dessert, wine, and company, all in a rather intimate setting, even if it _was_ the shop. But then again, Percy always found himself most comfortable within these walls and books, trying to see the characters past the pages, the writers beyond the words, and people behind the covers, whether they read them, buy them, or sell them. Percy had never been a socializing sort, always feeling as though he were missing something whereas James seemed to thrive in the presence of others. He was a character himself, the way he sauntered around and raved about foods and flashing that damn grin of his. James was the complete opposite of Percival. And perhaps that’s why Percy was so drawn to him, and also why he always felt so steady and safe whenever they spent time together, like he knew that James would never cause him any harm.

He thought about that night when James had been so open about himself, and how he had allowed Percy to do the same. James was more than just a pretty face with charming words. He was his friend. He was so much more. He was special.

Dessert, wine, and company, all in a rather intimate setting.

“Goodnight, Percy,” James said, snapping him from his thoughts. “I hope you have a lovely rest of your evening.”

James gave him a small smile and turned around, beginning to make his way to the front of the store, and all Percy could do was frown. This didn’t feel like the companionable dinners that he would have with Hamish. This…tonight felt like an entirely different sort. Had they…just on a date?

“James,” he said suddenly, moving his legs quicker than normal to catch up to him. James turned around, his brows furrowed.

“Yes?”

“Would you,” Percy paused and swallowed, his tongue suddenly feeling heavy in his mouth, his heart sounding too loud in his ears. “Would you like to have dinner sometime? With me?”

James blinked, his eyes widening in surprise. “As in…a date?”

At his appearing hesitation, Percy felt immediate apprehension. He was ready to take it all back, to say that he didn’t mean it, but instead, he nodded, and awaited retribution.

Slowly, an almost awed smile appeared on James’s face, his eyes lighting up in a way that Percy hadn’t seen them do before.

He let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. “I think I was planning on asking you that first, but never knew the right time.”

All at once, Percy’s dread washed away, replaced with a flood of relief and joy.

“But,” James continued, looking down for a moment as he took a few steps closer to Percy so their faces were merely inches apart. Percy was thankful for the overhead lamps being off near the front, hoping his blush was hidden by both the lack of light and the shadows from the shelves they were standing in between. “I also think that I would like that very much.”

Percy could feel his pulse quickening as he nodded slightly. “Good. That’s good, then.”

James breathed out another small laugh and shook his head. “You are no one like I’ve ever met, Percy.” He leaned in and Percy held his breath, feeling James soft lips barely brush against his cheek before he pulled away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, and we can hash out all the details then, hm?”

Percy nodded once more, not knowing if he could even make words come out of him even if he wanted to.

“Goodnight, Percy,” James smiled again, and turned and left, leaving Percy standing in the middle of stories he’s found so much comfort in over the years, and let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

He was going on a date with James Spencer.

Oh, _fuck_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Red, red wine_  
>  _Stay close to me_  
>  _Don't let me be in love_  
>  _It's tearing apart_  
>  _My blue, blue heart_  
> 

Harry really was handsome. That was the thought that seemed to become more and more prominent the longer Hamish spent time with him. He had no one to blame but Wendy, really. It was all her fault for pushing him to make a move and talk about his feelings and…Hamish sighed inwardly as he tore his eyes away from Harry. He and Wendy had gotten takeaway last week after class. It became a routine for them. Hamish would try his best not to lament about Harry (because if there was anything that Hamish didn’t do, he most certainly did _not_ lament), and Wendy would see straight through him and ask how much progress he’s gotten with asking Harry out. Of course, the answer was always absolutely nowhere. He glanced back up at him and swore he saw Harry avert his eyes back towards his own textbook.

They were sitting at the counter at the front of the Hadley House working on their assignments while Percy and James, the only other occupants in the shop, sat at one of the tables in the back, talking about god knows what. It was a slow day, with no customer coming in since Hamish and Harry arrived a couple hours prior, save for the man who’d entered only to ask if there was a loo available.

“So, how’s Wendy?”

The question startled Hamish as he blinked and looked up at Harry, who wasn’t even looking at him. “What?”

“Wendy,” Harry said again. “How is she?”

“Oh, she’s, uh, fine.” Hamish furrowed his brows, not knowing what could have prompted Harry to ask about Wendy of all people. “We’re meeting for dinner again tonight after my shift is over.”

He must have said the wrong thing because in an instant, Harry’s shoulders and jaw tensed. Just as Hamish was about to ask if Harry was alright, Harry’s tension vanished, and a clear mask of ease appeared on his face.

“That’s splendid,” Harry offered. “I’m glad you and Wendy are having a wonderful time. Wonderful Wendy Cartwright…”

There was an uncomfortable air surrounding the two of them, and Hamish didn’t know what to make of nor place it. There was always a sense of ease being around Harry, and Hamish was sure that he would share the same sentiment. This, whatever _this_ was, was foreign. Hamish was about to try and ask if Harry was okay again, but was interrupted once more.

“I have a butterfly in the freezer I need to set,” he said as he began packing up his things.

Hamish was thrown off, not knowing why Harry was so keen on leaving all of a sudden. He stood up from his stool. “We’re still meeting for lunch tomorrow, right?”

Harry paused, looking as though he were searching for an answer.

“Harry,” Hamish tried for the third time, “are you okay?”

Harry smiled and nodded his head. “Of course I am. Tell James I went home already, will you? Have a lovely rest of your evening, Hamish.”

With that, Harry grabbed his back and left without looking back or waiting for a response, the shop bell ringing behind him.

And Hamish confused beyond recognition.

\--

“James!”

James leapt and let out a startled yelp as he closed the door to the apartment. He closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure before turning around and seeing an unperturbed Harry Hart standing eagerly in front of him.

“And why are you so—”

“Let’s go to Club Mud.”

James raised a brow. “And why would I accompany you to Club Mud when you’ve had no problem going there on your own?”

“Because I haven’t been there in ages and I think it’s time you and I have a night on the town again.”

“Mhm,” James hummed as he toed off his shoes. He walked around Harry to go to his bedroom, not surprised when Harry followed him inside. He turned to give Harry a pointed look as he dropped his bags onto the floor.  “And if I’m not mistaken, you haven’t been to the club since we met Hamish and Percy.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, and James would be lying if he said that didn’t please him a bit (not that he’d ever say it outloud). “That’s...that’s hardly connected,” Harry muttered, and then stood up straight with a flashing smile. “Come now, James, I’m sure the bartenders there miss us. Please?”

Harry widened his eyes in a way that James was sure was meant to be pleading and endearing. James rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He ignored the triumphant look on his cousin’s face. “But you’re helping me with my recipes all weekend.”

“You say that like it’s a punishment,” Harry smirked.

James sighed and shook his head as Harry turned to leave to get ready in his own room, mumbling under his breath, “Clubbing on a bloody Tuesday.”

“It’s the most unsuspecting day,” Harry called as he closed the door, leaving James with the most foreboding feeling in his gut.

\--

James wrinkled his nose as the stench of sweat and smoke and alcohol invaded his senses. Music was blaring in his ears, and he could barely make out Harry amongst the sea of grinding bodies. He was worried about Harry. The moment they made it into the club, he had bought four shots and drank three of them himself, and immediately found himself a dance partner. And then another partner. And another. And now, James had lost count of the amount of men that have either bought Harry drinks, asked him to dance, or both. This wasn’t like him, and James wanted nothing more than to grab Harry by the arm and drag him out of his so-called beloved club.

“James!”

For the second tie that night, James jumped at the shout of his name. He turned his head to see Harry leaning next to him against the bar, a sloppy smile on his face, the curls on his head more unruly than Harry would ever deem acceptable.

“You’re having a good time, I see.”

“The greatest!” Harry slurred slightly. “Come on, let’s get you a lad and then you can join in on all the fun! Since when have you been such a fuddy-duddy on the club scene?”

The obvious answer appeared in James’s thoughts, but he decided to push that gorgeous face aside. For now. “Harry,” James sighed, “I think it’s time we go home.”

“What? _No!_ ” Harry looked stricken. “We’re here to have _fun!_ You love Club Mud!”

James pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Harry, but...things are different now.” He looked back up at Harry. “Do you even know how much you’ve drank tonight? Or how many men have bought you drinks at all? It’s time to go home.”

By the time James paid their tab and dragged Harry off the dance floor and out of the club, it was nearing three in the morning, the brisk night air hopefully helping Harry sober up as they walked back home.

“Harry, what’s going on?” James asked after they’d been walking for a while. “You aren’t usually like this.”

Harry shrugged as he shuffled along, the high from the club clearly evaporating with each step he took closer to home. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

James nodded his head, staying silent for a few more moments before speaking again. “Is this because of Hamish?”

Harry nearly tripped on his own feet. “What? No!” he sputtered. “Why does everything have to be about Hamish these days?”

“Because,” James sighed, tired, “you have feelings for him,  you absolute idiot.”

“That’s...that doesn’t matter,” Harry insisted. “He’s going out with Wendy Cartwright. Took her out to dinner tonight again and everything.”

James furrowed his brows and eyed Harry curiously. “Now, that doesn’t sound right.” It was so obvious that his cousin—his dear, romantic, gay disaster of a cousin—was not looking at the situation clearly. Hamish was gay, James was sure of it. Or, at the very least, bisexual, but the way Hamish would mention Wendy, well...it didn’t seem like a man infatuated.

“He said so this afternoon,” Harry scoffed. “Probably was the perfect gentleman, the bastard.”

“Have you, and hear me out, actually tried talking to the man? At all?”

When Harry said nothing, James rolled his eyes. “For the love of god, Harry, just ask him out!”

“Oh, right, like it’s that easy,” Harry bristled. “Once you ask Percy out, I’ll take my turn.”

James couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. “I asked him out yesterday, you bloody fool. Today, we talked about what day would be best for us to go out on our date.”

And when Harry groaned in response, all James could do was laugh more.

\--

Percy flipped their ‘ _OPEN_ ’ sign to ‘ _CLOSED_ ’ and walked back behind the counter to where Hamish was standing counting the day’s earnings. He nervously swiped his palms against his trousers and could feel his heart about to beat out of his chest. But it was just Hamish, Percy reminded himself. His best friend, his confidant, one of the most accepting people he’d ever met in his life. But what if…

He shook his head. No, he couldn’t think like that. This was important to him, and Percy wanted, needed, to share this with Hamish. He cleared his throat. “Hamish, can we talk?”

Hamish paused before setting down his notepad and pencil, turning to give Percy his full and undivided attention. Worry creased his brows. “Of course, is anything wrong?”

“No, no!” Percy responded quickly. “Nothing wrong at all. Quite the opposite, actually. It’s…really rather wonderful. At least, I think it’s wonderful. And, uhm, well, I suppose I hope that you’ll think it’s wonderful, as well.” He tried to fight smile that began to appear on his face as he spoke. No matter how Hamish responded, it was still one of the greatest things that had ever happened to Percy in this little shop.

Hamish cautiously returned a small smile. “Well, if you think it’s wonderful, then I’m sure I will, too. What’s going on, Percy?”

Percy closed his eyes to collect himself. This was it. He took a deep breath before looking nervously back at Hamish. “I’m…going on a date this Friday night.”

Hamish’s eyes lit up. “That’s excellent! Congrats! So do you need me to close by myself, then? Because I can do that if you need—”

Closing his eyes, Percy said a prayer and interrupted, “I’m going out with James.”

And like that, Hamish stopped talking. Percy could feel a lump forming in his throat that he desperately tried to swallow down. The world around him suddenly felt so heavy, the air dragging him down into the ground. This was it, he thought. He’s disgusted with me. Appalled. He’ll never want to see or speak to me again. He shut his eyes tight and turned his head to his feet and clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking, willing himself to stop being so damn emotional.

“Percy,” Hamish started softly after a moment. “You’re not—”

Percy took a deep breath and unclenched his fists. He looked up at Hamish with fear and apprehension. “Yes, I am.”

Percy couldn’t take Hamish just staring at him like that, with wide eyes as though he were some stranger, as though they hadn’t known each other and bonded with each other for what was going on almost four years now. He was suddenly alien to him, and Percy almost wanted nothing more than to take back what he said and rewind and not let this conversation ever happen.

Almost.

He stood a little straighter, but there was still a slight waver in his voice as he spoke. “I am, and I like James, and we are going to have a lovely evening, and I think it’s wonderful, and if you don’t, then that’s a shame for you.”

Hamish studied him for a moment before suddenly moving towards Percy. He involuntarily flinched as he readied himself for what he was sure going to be a hit, but instead he felt Hamish gruffly pulling him into a hug. As the realisation of not being punched settled in, Percy took in a few shuddery breaths before breaking down on Hamish’s shoulder and gripping onto him tight. This was a relief he never knew he could feel.

The tension that had been plaguing him all afternoon seeped away as he clung onto Hamish, the steady anchor in his life for the past four years. Had Hamish actually hit him or denounced their friendship, Percy genuinely didn’t know what he would have done. There was no one else in his life that he trusted more than him, and Percy thanked every deity that had ever been prayed upon for this confession to have ended up like this.

“You daft bastard,” Hamish said, his voice slightly muffled.

He pulled away slightly to look at him, but still kept his hands steady on his arms.

“You’re my brother,” he said as he maintained eye contact with him. “I’ve loved you like a brother since I first came into this shop, and I’ll love you like a brother now, and until long after I die. Nothing could ever change that.”

Percy let out one watery, breathy laugh and wiped the tears from his face. “That’s good to hear,” he beamed. “Thank you, Hamish.”

Hamish smiled in return before dropping his hands from his gentle hold on Percy and taking a step back. “I don’t care how good his cooking is, if James let alone makes you frown, I’m gonna kick his arse.”

Percy chuckled in response and shook his head, adrenaline still buzzing from the immediate relief and joy of Hamish accepting him for who he was. “I’ll be sure to deliver your warning.”

The two of them returned to their previous tasks, Hamish marking down the profits for the day and Percy moving back to the bookcases to organise the shelves. The grin on his face couldn’t be wiped away. Everyone’s coming out story should be like this, he thought.

“And besides,” Hamish started again after a few moments as they finished up their tasks, “who do you think’s been giving him advice on you?”

Percy stood up straight, alarmed. “Excuse me?”

All Hamish did was laugh in return. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good love story.”

Percy’s mind was whirring. “You—you knew? This entire time?”

Hamish’s grin softened. “I had my suspicions. He seemed to make you happy. And above everything else, I think you of all people deserve to be happy, Perce.”

Another lump formed in his throat that he swallowed down. “Thank you, Hamish.” He opened his mouth to speak more, but paused. Was it inappropriate to mention Harry at a time like this? Before he could make a decision, Harmish spoke first.

“I’ll cover your shift on Friday,” he said as he put on his jacket and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “You and James have fun, alright?”

Percy gave a small smile. “I’m sure we will. Thank you. Again.”

Hamish nodded and walked around the counter towards the door.

“Hamish?”

Hamish stopped and turned towards him. “Yeah?”

Percy opened his mouth to mention Harry, but decided against it. “You...you deserve happiness, too. Okay?”

Hamish smiled. “Thanks, Percy. See you tomorrow.”

\--

Hamish was happy for Percy. He really, truly was; however, that didn’t stop the prickling in the back of his mind that was telling him he could have done the same in that moment, and should have, but didn’t want to take away Percy's moment. But then again, perhaps hearing that would have been just what he needed. He thought of James’s cousin Harry and his unruly fluff of hair perched on top of his head and the ever present smirk that never seemed to leave his face. He thought of his warm brown eyes that always had a mischievous glint in them, like he knew something the rest of the world hadn’t clued in on yet. He thought of their first meeting, of the casual and cocksure _a drink would more than suffice in return_ and the immediate retraction of that offer.

If James’s openness to Percy was any indication, then James had to be out to Harry. The two of them were thick as thieves, partners in crime. They were closer than some brothers Hamish knew in the different foster families he lived with; if James was out to Harry, then Harry couldn’t be averse or disgusted by gay men. Perhaps this could be his chance, and if Harry said no, then so be it. With Harry, maybe he didn’t have to worry about being tossed in an alleyway and beaten bloodied.

James took a risk and it paid off. Hamish decided Harry could be worth the risk as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> W O W I'm so sorry this took ten thousand years to post. Life has been a whirlwind of many events and emotions, but I'm back! I promise I haven't forgotten about these boys, and I'm excited to continue their journey with all of you wonderful readers.

**Author's Note:**

> And here we go! I’m so excited to start this story with you guys, and I hope you all like it!


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